


only when the stars are out

by KweenRatMother



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Season/Series 14, Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Castiel and Dean Winchester Need to Use Their Words, Cuddling & Snuggling, Cuddling Castiel/Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester Has Nightmares, Dean Winchester Has Self-Worth Issues, Dean Winchester Needs a Hug, Dean Winchester Needs to Use Actual Words, Dean is a Disaster Bi, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode: s14e12 Prophet and Loss, Eventual Romance, First Kiss, Gay Panic, Hell Trauma, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, Literal Sleeping Together, M/M, Ma'lak Box (Supernatural), Men Crying, Nightmares, Post-Episode: s14e12 Prophet and Loss, Protective Castiel (Supernatural), Sam Ships It, Self-Hatred, Sharing a Bed, Slow Build, Soft Castiel (Supernatural), Spooning, Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester, Unresolved Emotional Tension, castiel is v soft, gratuitous comforting, lets go clowns, soft bois
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-13
Updated: 2020-06-16
Packaged: 2021-02-28 12:07:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 28,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22969753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KweenRatMother/pseuds/KweenRatMother
Summary: Silent.The coffin is silent.The ocean is silent, save for the constant hum of pressure, which is almost worse.Dean keeps his eyes shut. He breathes, tells himself he's gotta get used to this, he's gotta breathe, he's gotta calm down. But still he trembles, because the concept of forever—it's only this now.This prison.Nobody's fault but his own.Dean thought he could do this. But it's been barely a week and he's panicking. He's breathing, or at least he thinks he is, but no air is filling his lungs. He's just gasping uselessly, heart pounding too fast, mind scrubbed of everything except fear. Maybe there’s no air left at all.Dean's phone is dead now, though he'd conserved it for as long as he could. It's so dark and so small in here, too small, and he's trapped, trapped forever in here.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 87
Kudos: 418





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> what if it had been Cas who walked in after Dean's ma'lak box nightmare? I'm here to speculate.

Silent.

The coffin is silent. 

The ocean is silent, save for the constant hum of pressure, which is almost worse. 

Dean keeps his eyes shut. He breathes, tells himself he's gotta get used to this, he's gotta breathe, he's _gotta_ calm down. But still he trembles, because the concept of forever—it's only this now. 

This prison. 

Nobody's fault but his own. 

Dean thought he could do this. But it's been barely a week and he's panicking. He's breathing, or at least he thinks he is, but no air is filling his lungs. He's just gasping uselessly, heart pounding too fast, mind scrubbed of everything except _fear._ Maybe there’s no air left at all.

Dean's phone is dead now, though he'd conserved it for as long as he could. It's so dark and so small in here, _too_ small, and he's trapped, trapped _forever_ in here. 

_Forever_

_IN THIS BOX_

Hysteria digs its icy claws into him, ripping through like worn cloth, and he's helpless—he needs to get out, he can't breathe, can't see, can't think, _no,_ he _can't_ fucking do this—

All Dean can feel now is terror. 

All he’ll ever be is this.

_Forever._

Dean screams to fill the silence. 

Dean screams until he can't scream anymore, until his throat is ruined, until he can only wail hoarsely in anguish, until all he can taste is tears.

Dean pounds on the coffin's walls, claws desperately at them until his fingers are a shredded mess, skin peeled raw, nails split or missing. Useless.

Defeated, Dean just curls up after that and cries, cradling his bleeding hands to his chest, shaking with emotion, and he wishes he were dead.

Then Michael heals him.

_And it all starts again._

_He's not allowed to die._

_It never ends._

_It. Never. Ends._

_He will never escape._

  
  
  


\---

  
  
  


Dean wakes with a gasp, sitting bolt upright in the dark, and _God,_ does his head fucking _hurt._

He's drenched in a cold sweat, the blanket tangled around his legs. The aftershock of the nightmare is still gripping him, vestiges of terror sending his eyes on a mad dash around him. Familiar surroundings. He's awake. It was a nightmare. The knowledge barely consoles him.

Pale light from the hallway spills in, stretching across the room to creep up Dean's shoulder. Dean can see a figure in the doorway, just a silhouette, but he knows who it is. Of all the people to catch him like this. He looks away, shame burning his face. 

"I'm fine," Dean mumbles without even being asked. But his voice falters at the last second, because he's just noticed the fucking _bloody scratches_ on the wall next to his bed.

Dean looks down at his hands with a sharp intake of breath. Dried out blood is wedged underneath his aching, torn fingernails. Dean's stomach turns and dizziness covers him like a landslide, tilting the room and doubling his vision, threatening to make him sick.

_Fuck,_ he thinks.

_I am not fine._

_Jesus, I need to be committed._

Castiel pads slowly forward, and settles on the edge of Dean's bed, angling himself towards Dean. He says nothing. He just sits there, a warm, real, protective presence, and it's taking all of Dean's self control to keep from collapsing against his shoulder, and letting it all go. 

What must've been several minutes pass by at an agonizingly slow pace, but Dean eventually begins to feel his breathing even out, frayed nerves knitting back together. That’s always been the effect Castiel has on him. Dean feels safe when he's nearby, and frankly it's fucking scary in a way. 

"…Cas you don’t have to, man, I'm fine," Dean says, but it comes out quieter, shakier than he intended, betraying the vulnerability he had hoped to hide.

Cas gazes at him, his eyes so sad and kind and patient and Dean can't do this, not now. He doesn't want to run through all the questions in his mind that surface whenever Cas does things like this. 

_Why?_

_Why does he look at me like that?_

_Will I ever deserve this?_

_Why has he stuck by me all this time?_

_Will I ever deserve_ him _?_

Cas stays silent, but his eyes travel down to Dean's bleeding hands, which he's not doing a great job of hiding.

Carefully, Cas reaches out to take both of Dean's hands into his. Dean wants to pull them away, wants to retreat from the touch, and Cas gave him a few seconds' chance to, but he doesn't find it in him to actually do it.

There's a hushed ringing sound like a distant wind chime, as pale golden light illuminates the room for a moment. Dean gives a slight shiver at the brief sensation of a hundred tiny threads connecting him to Castiel. He closes his eyes, feels the pain fade to tingling warmth as Castiel's grace gently mends him. By the time the glow dies out and Dean realizes he's sighing softly, it's a little too late to bite it off.

Dean can feel Cas looking at him, but he can't work up the guts to look back, not when they're _literally_ holding hands, and not when neither of them seems to want to let go. 

Dean's had it bad for Cas, _real_ bad, way longer than he cares to calculate. He doesn't know exactly when it happened. These feelings had just crept up on him over the years, knitting themselves into his very being until they were as much a part of him as he was of them. Until it felt like they'd always been inside him, waiting to be set free, stretching towards the angel like plants to the sun. Giving him a source of hope and purpose even when he would’ve had none.

Coming to terms with having fallen madly in love with his best friend? Well, the difficulty of _that_ mental roller coaster put every hunt Dean's ever done to shame. 

So obviously Cas doing shit like this, fucking _wrecks_ him. 

_I_ cannot _entertain the possibility of him feeling the same,_ Dean scolds the part of his brain that wants so desperately to lean in and kiss Castiel. Just to try it. Just to see if he'll kiss back. Because what if he did? What if, what if, _what if—_

_No._

_Can't get things twisted. He is only touching me to heal me._

_I'm just lucky it was my hands that needed healing._

_He's_ just. _Being. Nice._

_Because I'm pathetic. Because I'm all fucked up._

_I bet there's a dozen better things he could be doing._

Caving to the guilt, Dean withdraws his hands from Castiel's grasp, curling in on himself, putting his walls up, guarding himself from facing his emotions in the only way he’s ever known how. 

Long after Castiel drifts out of his room, softly shutting the door behind him, Dean swears he can still feel the angel's grace lingering in his blood, warm and bright. He savors it, until that too fades away.

Then, Dean is alone again.  
  


\---

  
  


Dean keeps his door closed the next night. He doesn’t want to deal with receiving compassion he doesn't deserve, he just wants to suffer by himself, without dragging anyone else down with him, least of all Castiel. If he bleeds tonight, he doesn't want to be healed. 

Dean lies awake for hours in the dark, trying to tune out the cacophony in his head, afraid to fall asleep.

Until a shadow appears in front of the door, blocking the slice of light that leaks in from the hall. 

Dean stares at the shadow for a long time, not even blinking, curious or scared or relieved or maybe all of those. There's no movement.

He watches it until his eyelids get so heavy, he can barely keep them open. He was so sure he hadn't wanted anyone to be around him tonight, but this...he can make an exception. This, he can handle. This is okay.

_Cas is here. Cas is looking out for me._

That's the last thought to dissolve in Dean's head before he finally gives in, sinking into a deep sleep like warm sand. 

The nightmares never come. Tonight, they let him be.

When Dean wakes in the morning, he tells himself, decidedly, that the shadow in front of his door had been a dream. Just a really nice dream.

He's not ready to think about why he slept so well. Or why he felt so fucking safe in that dream.

He's not _supposed_ to feel safe. 

That's how you get killed.

That's how you get the people you love killed.

  
  


\---

For another few days, Castiel's protective shadow wards off the evils in Dean's subconscious, and it's pure bliss. Dean gives up pretending it was all a dream the next day; he was wide awake the next time Cas showed up, and there was no getting around it. He falls asleep facing the door now, snuggled deep in his blankets, glad that nobody will ever find out how much he loves this.

But inevitably, in classic "good thing" style, it ends, and the nightmares claw their way back in. And then Dean's in Hell again, the terror returned to tear him up again. And then he's waking up in a panic. 

_Again._

Dean chokes back the heaving sob that wants to escape his throat, and holds his breath, eyes fixed on the door. He hopes Cas doesn't know he's awake.

The shadow doesn’t move. 

Dean lets his breath out, slow and shaky. He curses himself, because goddammit, now he wishes Cas _would_ come in. 

He doesn’t go back to sleep.

  
  
  


\---

  
  


Another night. 

Dean comes home from a grisly hunt, bruised and dirty. He could swear his heart has barely slowed since he and Sam stumbled from that burnt out house, battered but alive. 

He goes straight for the shower, and washes away the past 48 hours under a stream nearly too hot to bear. 

Some hunts just beat him down. Dean doesn’t always resent being raised into this life, being stuck in this life. But his nerves are wearing thin, broken and frayed like a net that’s been at sea for far too long, and Michael just _keeps on pounding on that fucking door_ and tonight, Dean doesn’t want to wake up after he goes to bed.

Trying to ignore that thought, he wraps a towel around his hips, drags one hand across the heavily fogged mirror, and catches a look at himself. Empty eyes stare back, rimmed with dark circles, the beginnings of a bruise blossoming beneath the left one. Dean's hair is still drenched, the water rolling down his face, where it dilutes a slow trickle of blood from a split lip he's only just noticed.

_Sure didn't bring my A game to that job,_ he berates himself, turning away from his reflection in disgust. _Guess it doesn't matter, won't be long before I'm retiring for good anyway. It doesn’t matter if I get my perfect win. Nothing is mine anymore. Not even my own damn mind._

Dean can't muster the effort to take off the towel he should've used to dry his hair, so he just yanks a second one off the rack and halfheartedly scrubs it over his head. He lets it drop to the edge of the sink and shuffles from the shower room with a harrowed sigh, shuddering at the punch of cold air that hits him as he steps out of the steam.

On the walk back to his room that's been feeling so much more like a hike than it ever should, Dean runs into Castiel. He ducks his head and tries to pass by unacknowledged, but he's held back by a gentle hand on his chest, because Cas can never just play along when Dean's pretending to be okay.

Dean closes his eyes for almost two full Mississippi seconds, swaying into Castiel's touch, chasing the warmth that it spreads over him. He doesn't have the energy to make believe he doesn't want this, much less to offer even a halfhearted protest. As soon as he'd felt that contact, Dean gave up his objective to avoid this interaction. The truth is he’s been starving for someone to touch him since before he was even home.

"You’ve had a rough day," Castiel says softly, snapping Dean out of the daze he'd just about fallen into. It's not a question, and Dean knows that’s on purpose, the sneaky bastard. He's not offering Dean a chance to deny it. 

There's a tenderness in Castiel's eyes, something potent and unwavering, and Dean is scared of it. He's terrified of what it does to him. He's terrified that Cas has always been able to make him feel less broken, even without _literally_ healing him.

"Sure, I guess, yeah," Dean mumbles, looking down at his feet before he can get into a staring contest. "Cas, look, I-I really just—" _wanna fucking die,_ his brain supplies— "wanna crash right now," he finishes instead. 

"At least let me heal you," Cas says, and as soon as his hand drops from Dean's chest, he kinda wishes Cas had kept it there. Okay, he _desperately_ wishes Cas had kept it there.

"Nah man, I'm good, this ain't shit," Dean says, still avoiding those fucking pretty eyes. But his resolve feels weak, and a big part of him always yearns to just fold and give Cas whatever he wants.

"Dean."

"It's fine, Cas," he says wearily, "you don't have to, it's...it would be a waste, I—"

Michael chooses that moment, mid-sentence, to slam his _entire_ fucking weight against the door. The bastard.

Dean winces, a raw cry escaping through his teeth. He nearly doubles over as jolts of pain stab into his temples, and he starts to stagger away, pressing both palms into his forehead. Following that deep-seated instinct he has to isolate himself when he's in distress. 

Castiel's not having any of it. He catches Dean as he nearly topples to the floor, hauling him back. He's not exactly rough, but there's a definite insistence that Dean can't find it in him to disobey. He bites the bullet and meets Castiel's eyes, preparing for one of the well-meaning reprimands everyone's been giving him these days.

What Dean sees instead, he's not at all prepared for. 

Cas looks like he's on the verge of tears. 

Dean's breath snags in his throat, his heart breaking a little, or maybe a _lot._ He can't bear that look. The few times he's seen it, he's hoped to never, ever see it again.

Cas doesn't speak. Instead, he carefully lifts one unsteady hand to Dean's face, his thumb brushing over Dean's lips, leaving unbroken skin behind with that familiar, brief golden glow. 

Dean feels all the pains in his body begin to blissfully cease, but he can't even react. Cas touching his lips was more than enough to render him entirely speechless. 

Before Dean can get his brain back online, Cas pauses for a second, and then he just pulls Dean close to him, gently guiding Dean's head to rest on his shoulder. Dean is frozen, all at once forgetting how to breathe, how to move, how to do _anything_ except listen to the shuddering breaths Cas is taking, and Dean knows (because he's done this so many times himself) that he's trying to regain his composure. 

Dean is suddenly very aware that he's nearly naked, how incredibly intimate this feels and…the almost suffocating ache in his chest for how much he needs this. He really, _really_ needs this. _Wants_ this.

"Please don't do it," Cas whispers, barely audible. " _P_ _lease, Dean._ We'll find another way."

  
_Shit._

Dean pulls back, staring at Cas. "What? Wh—Sam told you about the fucking box, didn't he?" It comes out a lot more accusatory than he'd intended, and Dean instantly feels bad.

Cas nods. "Don't be angry with your brother. _I_ was the one who asked what was bothering him, he was just responding truthfully."

Dean breaks away from him with a frustrated sound. "That little asshole can never keep a secret, can he?"

Cas somehow manages to increase that kicked puppy look. "Dean," he says quietly, his voice rough. "Why did you not want me to know?"

_Because I don't have the fucking strength to say goodbye to you?_

_Because I'm so scared to leave you alone, and to be alone without you?_

_Because I made peace with leaving everyone. Everyone. Except. You._

_Because I need to do this, but I need you more._

_You're the one flaw in my plan, the one person in the world who could make me chicken out._

But Dean doesn't say any of it. He can't. 

Instead, he turns on his heel. "I'm going to bed, Cas," he says gruffly, ignoring the question. 

Dean decides that he only imagined hearing his name as he walked away, because he's pretty goddamn sure he heard Castiel's voice break, and he _cannot_ deal with that right now. _Did I just make Cas fucking cry_ is not a question he wants to answer, or even think about.

When Dean reaches his bedroom, he ducks inside like the cops are on his heels and shuts the door, leaning against it and letting his breath come shivering out. 

Dean can't think. His brain is a mess of emotions he's never learned how to process, and it feels far too late to even try. He drags his hands down his face, keeps his eyes closed for a few seconds. Then he just stumbles to his bed and collapses onto it, every last scrap of energy in him draining out. Suddenly Dean feels so, _so_ tired. Frail, like if he looks at his hands, they might be a little transparent.

Fatigue already starting to blur his coordination, Dean makes a barely acceptable attempt at pulling some blanket over himself. To actually be under the covers, though, he has to move from on top of them, and that action alone feels near impossible.

Giving up, Dean falls into the haze. He wraps an arm tightly around his pillow for some sad semblance of comfort, and slips into unconsciousness.

  
  


Exhaustion dulls just over an hour of Dean's sleep before he starts to toss and turn again.

When he jolts awake this time, he's hanging halfway off the bed, disoriented and naked, his ears ringing. 

Dean drags himself back up, and feeling horribly exposed, he gathers up his towel and hugs it against his body. Then he just lies there, panting, too tired to move any more. In his periphery he can see Cas outside the door again. 

Dean's just too overwhelmed, the fear and misery and self hatred devouring him in a raw moment of vulnerability. 

He can't stop the words before they get out.

"I know you're there Cas, just fuck off and leave me alone!" Dean yells, and he sees the shadow flinch. It lingers for a moment, then slowly retreats.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ope


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quarantine writing time y'all

For the next four nights, Dean sleeps fitfully, with nobody to stand outside his door, and it's fucking horrible. He lies awake in the dark again now, too shaken to go back to sleep.

He doesn't even know _why_ he banished Castiel, and he agonizes over it during the long hours of insomnia, wishing he hadn't done it but unable to get his brain to let him take it back.

 _Besides,_ the cruel but rational part of Dean says, _it's probably better this way. Gonna have to cut all these attachments sooner or later anyway. Can't have friends and family when you're buried in the ocean, can you?_

Dean doesn’t expect that thought to slam reality home the way it does. He's been doing everything in his power to avoid thinking about it too directly. 

Now, the weight of the decision begins to crush him, and he fights back the tears that want to spill out, despite nobody being here to witness them. 

Dean's lungs feel like they're filled with cement. He can barely breathe and he barely even _wants_ to. He turns onto his side to face the door, curled up, and wishes, or maybe begs, for Castiel to come back.

And of course, Cas doesn’t make him wait long. After a few agonizing minutes, staring at the door until his eyes water, Dean can see a shadow appear. It lingers, grows fainter for a moment, then returns. There's a shuffling sound, and a small thump, and then all the light leaking in is blocked.

Cas is _sitting_ outside the door.

Dean holds his breath, not moving at all for almost a full minute before he realizes that he accidentally prayed. 

Cas is here because he called, and Cas already knows he's awake.

Dean feels like he should be opening the door and dealing out apologies, or at the very least saying _something,_ but he can't bring himself to speak. The guilt and unworthiness that sets in is damn near unbearable.

So instead, Dean just gets up, slowly makes his way to the door, and lowers himself down with his back against it, drawing his knees up to his chest.

 _If only I could have the fucking guts to do this without a door between us,_ Dean thinks miserably.

On the other side, Cas exhales softly, but stays silent.

Dean still can't find the right words to say, so he just tips his head back and lets his tired eyes close, Castiel's comforting presence like a blanket right out of the dryer.

Dean falls asleep there on the floor, and for once, he sleeps through what little night is left.

  
  
  


When the morning comes, Dean doesn't get up right away, because he knows he hasn’t done his body any favors by crashing on a hardwood floor. He can already feel the beginnings of aches that will probably stick with him all day, and the slightest movement of his shoulders causes them to crack. Meanwhile, his mind is swimming, turning in circles, trying to make sense of the night before.

It's almost too quiet until a sudden rustle directly behind Dean startles him into full alertness. He scrambles back from the door on instinct, then freezes when the source of the sound dawns on him. 

_Cas has been here all night!_ Dean silently yells at himself, as he sits there, still as a frightened animal, listening to the soft receding footsteps in the hall.

_He stayed here. All. Night._

Dean runs his hands through his hair, eyes darting around the room as if he might find something to ease all this confusion. Finding, of course, nothing, Dean decides right then and there that he's going to hide in his room. All day. 

He'll be surviving off the dusty glass of water on his nightstand and whatever unfinished snacks he can find, but it's still worlds easier than facing Cas after last night.

  
  


\---

  
  


Much to Dean's bewilderment, Cas sits outside his door again that night. And Dean is pretty fucking sure he didn’t let any prayers slip this time. Cas _chose_ this, without being asked.

Before long, the terror comes back as it always does, haunting images robbing him of sleep again, and Dean drags himself to the door, bringing a blanket this time.

And he sits there, just like the night before, as close to Castiel as he dares to be.

Dean could swear he hears Cas softly humming as he drifts off. 

Maybe he just imagined it.

Dean decides to go with that, because if he doesn't, then he has to go with "Cas sang me to sleep" which is much more difficult to even _begin_ to process. 

  
  


They don’t speak about any of it during the day. They carry on as if nothing has changed, and everyone else in the bunker is none the wiser.

Sometimes, though, their eyes will meet, and for the briefest moment, something unspoken is communicated between them. Something that words can't express, some kind of understanding that feels peaceful and intense all at once.

Not that Dean's never shared a loaded glance with Castiel before. He has, more times than he could even try to count. 

But it's changed now. 

Or maybe, somehow, _he's_ changed.

  
  


\---

  
  


It was nobody's idea. It was never discussed or explicitly agreed on. 

But at some point, Castiel's nightly visits just became a ritual, and Dean found himself falling into it as naturally as brushing his teeth. He doesn't know what it all means for the two of them, and he doesn't think about it, because that leads him down paths he's too afraid to walk. He just lets it be.

It's close to 4 AM, and Dean is settled by the door after waking from a particularly visceral nightmare. He has a blanket pulled tightly around as much of his body as he can manage to cover, but he still can't stop shivering. Every time he's sure he'll finally start to warm up, another part of him feels cold and exposed, unprotected.

Dean's not entirely present; his sense of awareness is lingering in a hazy state of half-existence. He blinks blearily at the dull glow of his bedside lamp, dimmed to its lowest setting, but somehow still stinging his bloodshot eyes. He's shaken, exhausted, and _so_ fucking worn out. 

So, when his anxiety wins out over his inhibitions, Dean slowly slides his hand under the door, just enough to touch a bit of Castiel's coat. Just to ground himself, just to remind himself that he's not alone. Just to touch something real, something that can give him a little comfort. That's all.

Dean doesn’t expect Cas to notice. 

He's not prepared to feel the warm weight of a hand settle carefully on top of his. 

Dean jumps, nearly snatching his hand back as his heart starts to race.

Cas curls his fingers under Dean's palm and squeezes.

For the first time in probably ever, Dean's thoughts, or at least the one thought he can comprehend right now, is entirely drowning out Michael. 

_Cas is holding my hand._

_On purpose._

_On. Purpose._

Dean doesn’t go back to sleep this time, but for reasons a whole lot different than the ones he's used to. 

He stays there until the early morning, almost in a daze. Dean's brain has turned to jelly, unable to focus on anything else but the comforting warmth of Castiel's hand closed over his. Keeping him safe.

Whatever this is, Dean doesn’t want it to stop. He's bewildered by it, but he wants to let it happen while he still can, to accept the small moments of peace it gives him with open arms, because he knows his time is running out.

  
  


\---

  
  


It's Cas who offers his hand first the next night. 

Dean stares at it for several seconds, frozen, heart in his mouth. Up above ground, a storm crashes through the woods, heavy rain and raging gusts of wind battering the trees. Dean is hyper focused on the muddled noise, trying to distract himself from his mounting uncertainty.

After what felt like an hour, Dean finally leans his head against the door, closes his eyes, and tentatively rests his hand on Castiel's.

It's not nearly as scary as Dean expected it to be. It feels right, natural. It feels like he's done this a hundred times and he'll do it a thousand more. 

Why the fuck has he waited this long? Until he's about to lock himself up in a box in the goddamn ocean? 

It's too late for everything now.

_Nothing_ matters anymore.

Dean gives up trying to hold back his tears. He just lets them fall, feeling utterly defeated. Does it even matter, if he cries or if he doesn't cry? He's going in the ocean either way. There's no point in being strong, in holding on, in putting on a brave face. At the end of the day, he's _still going in the fucking ocean._

None of it means _anything_ now.

Dean grips Castiel's hand until his knuckles lose color, as crippling despair and frustration close in around him. He bites down hard on his lower lip to stop it from trembling.

 _My life is over,_ he silently laments.

_I'm finally holding Castiel's hand but my life is fucking over._

" _Fuck,_ " Dean sobs, no longer bothering to stay quiet.

There's a pause, and then a small thump next to Dean's ear as Cas rests his head on the other side of the door. 

"I'm here," Cas says softly, the first time he's spoken during their nights together. So much is contained in those two words.

"I know," Dean whispers, his voice shaking. "I know, and I…"

_I love you._

"Cas…thank you," he manages. "I need this."

_I need_ you.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> things get gayer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quarantine got my writing speed at 💯👌🏽

It's not until his first night alone in days, that Dean begins to understand the full scope of _how much_ he has come to need Cas in order to sleep relatively undisturbed.

Sam has stolen Cas away, the two nerds off to follow up on some lead or another, and Dean is at home, under the pretense of holding down the fort. That was, of course, bullshit. Dean is actually suffering an especially chaotic day with Michael wreaking havoc in his head, and he can barely stand up without the pulsing, maddening headache inducing a wave of nausea. As a result, he hasn't eaten or even left his room all day.

Dean lies in bed, curled into a fetal position, stewing in self loathing, wishing with every last shred of his soul for just a _little_ bit of peace and quiet. Just a _few minutes_ that he can feel like this body is his and his alone.

Dean is regretting every fucking choice he's made that led up to this. He feels so trapped, so lonely even though he's never alone anymore. 

He _always_ has Michael now. He _hates_ Michael. _Hates_ him so _fucking_ much.

The clock ticks past the time Cas would've showed up, had he been home, and Dean watches the harsh bursts of color flash in front of his eyes, in perfect sync with the pulses of pain that feel like a second heartbeat. One that pumps death through him instead of life. 

_Death sounds kinda nice right about now,_ he thinks miserably.

Here and there, the pounding lets up for a few seconds of precious relief. Dean knows it's not mercy, just Michael taunting him, but he takes one of the rare moments to grasp the edge of his nightstand, dragging himself up a bit, his breathing strangled and rough.

He grabs a bottle of painkillers, wrestles it open, and tips several of them into his hand, dry swallowing them because he has nothing to drink, and no will to go get anything. He gags a few times, forcing the pills down just as the migraine kicks back up again. They never really help him. It's hardly much more than a ritual, something to feel normal. 

Dean flops onto his back, feeling his watering eyes start to sting, and he wishes for Castiel. 

_I know this is fucking pathetic._

_But I don't wanna be alone right now._

_Please, Cas._

_I need my angel. I need you to make me okay._

That last plea showed up unbidden in his head before he could stop it. He hopes, suddenly, that Cas isn't listening. What was he _thinking?_ You can't just call a guy yours right out of left field.

For a few agonizing minutes, Dean lies in silence.

 _Alright, maybe he didn't hear me,_ Dean thinks, _crisis averted._

But then his phone rings.

Dean's heart starts to race.

He stares at the phone like it's just burst into flames, as two rings go by, then three, then four. He can't see the screen from where he's lying, but he _knows_ it's Cas. Who the fuck else did he just pray to, after all? 

Before he can think twice, Dean snatches his phone and accepts the call. Slowly, he lies back down and brings it to his ear, heart still hammering in his chest. He doesn't say anything. He can't. He just listens to the faint white noise until Cas speaks.

"Dean," he says quietly, and Dean lets his breath out in something between a sigh and a sob.

"You're okay," Cas tells him. His voice is low and soft, and Dean is embarrassed by the amount of relief that floods his senses when it's only been a _day_ without this. A _day._

"Just breathe, Dean," Cas whispers, and _God_ that voice is so fucking soothing it's not even fair. "Breathe. You're okay. You're okay…just breathe with me, alright? Breathe in, slowly, okay?"

Dean closes his eyes and does as he's told, nodding even though he knows Cas can't actually see him. His chest feels tight and strained, but he pulls in as much air as he's able.

"Good," Cas says after a few seconds. "Now breathe out. Go slow."

Dean obeys, and they repeat the exercise a few times until he doesn't feel like he's being strangled anymore.

Cas goes on after that, keeps on murmuring comforting words into Dean's ear, and Dean lets those words ease away his tension and stress, slowly but surely. 

It still takes a while for Dean to settle down enough to sleep, but Cas stays on the line with him until he does, and then a little longer until he can't keep his eyes open anymore. 

  
  


They don't talk about it when Cas returns the next morning. They just resume the routine they've both fallen into, as if that night had been no different from the past several. 

But Dean knows it _felt_ different. 

  
  


\---

  
  


After the confrontation— first with Cas in that hospital, then Sam in the parking lot— Dean goes to war with himself, torn over his decision. Afraid he's made a fatal mistake by promising to put a pin in his plan. He had sworn to himself that he wouldn’t let his emotions get in the way of it, but here he is, conceding anyway. 

That day was painful, for all of them. Cas had finally swapped his sadness and quiet concern for anger, and Sam just fucking combined them. 

At the end of it, Dean couldn’t hold his resolve anymore. He never wants to see that desperate anguish on Sam's face again as long as he lives. He never wants to see Castiel's eyes flash with that intense fury and the heartbreak hiding behind it. 

So he gave in.

Dean had been prepared to be as good as dead, and now he feels oddly empty without that doomed anticipation.

Now, Dean isn't dreaming about the bottom of the ocean. 

Instead, he dreams of possession. Michael breaking free, taking back the control Dean so stupidly gave to him, using Dean's hands to slaughter everyone he loves.

Dean dreams of his little brother's blood, on his own hands, on the floors, dripping slowly down the wall that Dean's just smashed his head into. 

Bodies scattered throughout the bunker. 

The bittersweet, metallic scent of gore hanging thick in the air.

The horrific sound of his own voice, laughing Michael's laugh.

Castiel's pale blue eyes, bloodshot, pleading as he tries to speak, as tears roll down his face, while Dean watches helplessly from the back seat of his mind. 

Watches his hands slowly, deliberately choke the life out of the angel he loves more than he's ever loved anyone.

  
  


Dean wakes with a strangled cry. His heart beats so hard, he feels like it's trying to rip its way out of him. He sits up and, almost automatically, his wild eyes find the door. 

Cas isn't there. 

Dean drops his head into his hands for a moment, swallowing back the lump in his throat. He hates to be in such a vulnerable state that simply realizing he's alone makes him want to break down. He fucking _hates_ it.

Dean needs to see Cas. Just to know he's alive. He kicks himself for how irrational that is; of course Cas is alive. But rationality is the quieter voice tonight, so Dean gets out of bed, shivering as the chill air cools the sweat on his bare skin.

He pulls on an old pair of sweatpants with holes in the knees that he's had for who knows how long. The faint scent of soy sauce, from the time Dean stashed leftover takeout in his duffel bag, still lingers on them after several washes. 

The scent is strangely comforting, tugging Dean's mind away to a simpler time, a good old road trip hunt and the familiarity of a sketchy hotel. Sam warning him about the "lack of structural integrity" of a takeout container, then telling Dean he can't wait to take a huge sip of "I told you so" when that container leaks. 

Dean sighs wistfully and opens his dresser drawer, fishing out a soft, thin cotton tee with the sleeves and collar cut off and the faded logo of some bar in Tennessee. He shrugs it on and drifts out to the hallway, barefoot.

Dean usually avoids the library whenever he can, because when he can't, he's stuck there for way too long. But he knows that’s where he'll find his angel, so he makes a beeline for it, vaguely wondering when exactly he started thinking of Castiel as " _his_ angel." _Somewhere between last Friday and eight fucking years ago_ is as close as he can pinpoint it, which is not much help.

The library is nearly dark except for the amber glow of a single lamp farther in, leading Dean to think at first that maybe nobody is here after all. 

He's about to go look somewhere else when the sound of a page turning nearly gives him a heart attack. 

Dean creeps around the bookshelves, lying to himself that whoever is here hasn’t already heard him.

He finds Cas settled on a sofa in front of a low table. It looks like he's been here long enough to get comfy, probably hours, because Cas just isn't a "get comfy" kind of guy, especially not when he's doing research. 

There are books everywhere, some of them open, and Cas' coat and jacket are draped over the back of the sofa, his blue tie crumpled halfway under him, sinking in between the cushions. He's undone the top three buttons on his dress shirt, and his sleeves are rolled up, and his hair is messy. He's fucking gorgeous.

Cas looks up at him, and Dean can feel his face growing hot as he realizes he's staring. He can't help it. Castiel's sexiness momentarily distracted him from his actual reasons for being here, and he's only human for fuck's sake.

"Hello Dean," Cas says in that beautiful gravelly voice that Dean could listen to all day.

_Shut up, brain._

"Hey, Cas," Dean mumbles, shoving his hands into his pockets. He looks down at the floor, suddenly feeling like a nuisance, especially since he's painfully aware of why Cas is hitting the books—to help _him._

_I literally came here because I had a bad dream. How fucking pathetic—_

"You can't sleep," Cas states, and once again it's not a question. He knows what's going on. He always knows.

"No, man, I just like to haunt the bunker in the middle of the night like a pajama wearing ghost," Dean says with a weak laugh.

Cas offers him a tiny, sympathetic smile, but the worry doesn’t leave his eyes. If anything, it deepens a little.

Dean's losing his nerve, and he starts to retreat. "If you're busy it's cool, I can—"

"No," Cas responds a little too quickly. "Come. Sit with me. It's alright, I'd like the company."

Dean hesitates, and that unspoken _something_ sparks between them again, and he wants to fucking run, but he forces his feet to bring him forward instead. Slowly, Dean lowers himself to the sofa. He's apprehensive, but as soon as he's beside Cas he sinks into the cushions despite himself, as if a good chunk of his tension just stayed where he'd been standing. 

Cas closes the book in his hands and puts it on the table. He leans forward and fixes his gaze on Dean, squinting a bit as if trying to figure him out.

"Is everything okay, Dean?" He asks quietly.

Dean clears his throat and looks away. "Uh, yeah…yeah I'm okay."

In his periphery, Dean sees Cas tilt his head. That gesture can mean a lot of things, as Dean has learned over the years, but he's absolutely sure that this time, it means "I call bullshit."

Before Dean can double down on said bullshit, the son of a bitch calls him out.

"You don't have to do that with me," Cas says.

Dean plays dumb, and he's not really sure why. Maybe to buy himself time for more excuses. Maybe he doesn’t want to admit he's been called out. Or maybe he wants and _needs_ Cas to corner him into opening up because it's so fucking hard for him to figure out on his own.

"Do what?" Dean asks innocently.

Cas looks a little exasperated. "Telling me you're okay when you're not," he says plainly. "You don’t have to play invincible for me, Dean. Never. No matter how broken you may think you are, I will still…" 

There's never been a pause that feels as dire as this one. 

Dean's brain supplies a hundred different fantasies of Castiel saying _I will still love you._

"…I won't ever think any less of you," Cas finishes instead, his voice low and soft.

Dean laughs a little, feeling both relieved and dismayed at once. "You're givin' me way too much credit, man."

"I disagree," Cas says, and before Dean can reply, he keeps talking. "Dean, you could have gone anywhere else in this bunker. But you came to me. So at least let me carry some of your burdens."

Dean hugs himself, avoiding Castiel's eyes. He never knows what to do with kindness when it's just handed to him like this. He struggles to push past a lifetime of rules and instincts that warn him away from vulnerability, and it leaves him empty-handed, a sea of emotions on the tip of his tongue that he can't get himself to voice.

After a few minutes of silence, Cas gently lays his hand on Dean's back, just below his neck, tracing small lines with his thumb. 

Just the sensation of Castiel's warm skin against his own makes Dean feel like he's melting into a puddle. A slight shiver runs through him, and his resolve to stay locked up starts breaking apart with every passing moment. 

Cas _wants_ to listen. 

This feels safe.

This actually feels _safe._

_It's so hard to feel safe, so fucking rare—_

Before he can even think about stopping himself again, the walls come down.

"I'm scared," Dean finally whispers, his voice shaking. "Cas, I'm scared I won't be able to keep him in, that—that one of these days I'm gonna let my guard down and he's gonna get out. Every day, every fucking hour I'm scared of him, and I _hate_ it." He doesn’t want to say Michael's name. He doesn't have to. Cas knows.

Dean draws a deep breath, trying to steady himself before he continues. "I'm afraid to sleep, like he's gonna break through when I'm not conscious," he says miserably. "And—and when I do try to sleep, I keep having these…fucking _dreams_ about killing people. People I love. And it won't stop, Cas. I just want it to stop! I want him _out._ " Dean's voice finally breaks then."I just wanna be _okay._ "

Castiel just listens at first. But when Dean at last lets himself cry, albeit silently, he moves closer, until there's no space between them, and wraps both arms around Dean's trembling shoulders. Dean clings to him until shame begins to rise back up again, burning his face. 

"I'm sorry," Dean mumbles into Castiel's neck. He starts to retreat, suddenly embarrassed; he doesn’t feel right. He _should_ be able to handle this shit on his own.

Cas doesn't allow it. He pulls Dean back to him, pressing his lips to Dean's hair. 

"It's alright, Dean," he whispers. "It's alright. No matter what happens, I'll be with you. I won't let you go alone."

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Dean starts to wonder what exactly Cas means by that, but his speculation doesn’t get far, because his mind is currently a mess of anxiety and confusion, and he's swimming in it blind, drowning in it. Right now, he's just not capable of coherent thought.

Dean slumps into Castiel's arms, all his energy draining away at once. His body feels heavy and detached, like he'll never be able to lift himself from this spot. For now, Dean is okay with that. Breathing in the scent of Castiel is the only thing keeping him tethered to reality, as he yearns to disassociate and be apart from all of this.

Cas holds him, cards his fingers through Dean's hair and softly whispers words Dean can't quite make out. Dean focuses on his voice, and somehow, _somehow_ it's winning over Michael.

They never talk about the past several nights. 

Dean thinks Cas must've put him to sleep, because he doesn't remember drifting off. 

  
  


In the morning, Dean's come to his senses, and when he wakes with his head resting on Castiel's lap, he more or less flees the library, wildly embarrassed.

  
  


\---

  
  


There's no denying it anymore. Something has shifted.

Dean longs desperately for Cas, and he has for years, but it's always been at least manageable. Now it's become something wild and uncontainable, an all-consuming storm inside him. 

The days feel long and lonely, and Dean counts the minutes until the evening, when he can finally step back into what's starting to seem like an entirely different world.

Dean thinks about the library. A lot. 

In all the years Dean has known Cas, he's never let himself be held like that, and yet, it felt like the sanctuary Dean has been begging for all his life. He's crossed an invisible border into uncharted territory, and he has no idea where to go from here. Dean feels as if his relationship with Cas has transformed to a mile long spiral of dominoes, and he just _had_ to go and poke the one all the way at the end. 

He's leapt over an edge and there's no climbing back up now.

So Dean takes a risk, and leaves his bedroom door just a little open before he goes to bed. But his heart is thundering in his ears, and he's so high strung, he can't sleep worth shit.

When Cas shows up, Dean is lying on his side, facing the angel, blanket pulled over half his body but still very much awake. Cas lingers in the doorway, and Dean begins to lose his nerve.

 _This was a stupid idea_ , he thinks as Cas tentatively pushes the door open. 

_What am I expecting from him, anyway?_

_What the fuck am I doing?_

Cas makes his way across the room, footsteps soft and slow. He doesn’t turn the lamp on. He just carefully sits on the bed, same as he did that first night. 

For the longest minute Dean has ever experienced, Cas doesn’t move, and Dean looks up at him, barely daring to breathe.

Then, Cas reaches for him. 

He brushes the back of his hand gently against Dean's face, drawing an involuntary shiver out of him. Cas withdraws too soon, but the warm, faint electricity of his tender touch still remains, and Dean closes his eyes, letting it sink into him.

Castiel's face is unreadable in the dark, and Dean can't get himself to speak, so instead, he moves just slightly closer. 

Years of unsaid words hang in the air between them like an endless stretch of highway. But they both remain quiet. 

Eventually, Cas brings his hand to Dean's forehead, and Dean relaxes, allowing it. With a light touch, Castiel's grace envelops him in a blanket of calm, peaceful silence. 

Dean wants to tell Cas he doesn’t need to stay if he doesn't want to, but the thought is hazy, diluted, and the angel's name is barely past his lips before sleep takes him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wash your hands,,


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get even gayer and angst

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp we got another month of quarantine here in Washington and ya bitch is enjoying the hobby time.

Castiel doesn’t sit outside Dean's door anymore. That domino already fell. Now, he comes in, around the same time every night, and perches on Dean's bed to watch over him. 

Sometimes Dean wakes up in a total panic. Sometimes he cries out in his sleep. Sometimes his eyes will snap open and he'll just lie there trembling, hands clenched tight, in the throes of some hellish memory.

Each time, Castiel is there. Some nights he brings a book, others he just sits. Some nights he reads aloud, and Dean pretends to be asleep, listening to Castiel's soft voice until he drifts off.

Dean doesn't touch Cas at first, because the fact he's lying in bed makes it feel too intimate, too much like overstepping. 

He thought that fear had its hooks in pretty deep, but it ends up being short lived. 

Dean breaks on a late night after a brutal hunt. One that nearly went _very_ wrong. Dean blames himself for that.

He's tried so hard, but he's failing to settle his nerves, still reeling from the horror of coming way too close to watching his brother die. A couple of seconds— that's all it would've taken for Dean to be too late to save him. The wraith had already gotten a few stabs in. Just one more would've been the end. Sammy lost so much blood on that drive back, and Dean had been so frantic he could barely stay on the road. He was in tears when he saw Cas, barreling through the bunker door before the car had even stopped, hands already glowing.

Dean sighs unevenly, and with shaking hands, he grips the edge of Castiel's coat and doesn’t let go until he falls into a fitful sleep. 

After what felt like only a few seconds, Dean has rolled over in his sleep, facing away from Cas. He's awake again, the darkness swimming in his grainy vision, shadowy shapes looming in every corner. Watching him.

He can _feel_ them watching him, feel their imposing presence all around him, all _over_ him, crushing him into a forceful state of dread.

Paralysis. Dean is familiar with it. He knows it's not real, tries to focus on keeping that thought at the front of his mind, but it never works. The utter helplessness is too much.

Dean fights to move, to breathe, to even _blink,_ as a thunderous sound like rushing water fills his ears, panic spiking his heartbeat. Riding out the paralysis is like crawling through wet cement, with the urgency of running from a tidal wave.

He's trapped for what feels like hours, crawling.

_Suffocating._

Dean gasps desperately when he finally breaks free, breath hitching, taking in huge gulps of air like he's just nearly drowned. 

Cas jumps at the sudden noise, laying one hand on Dean's shoulder to carefully turn him around. Dean doesn't need to see Cas' face to know he's wearing that concerned, caring expression that makes Dean feel so loved and so unworthy.

They stare at each other in the dark for a long moment. 

Dean breaks the stare to squint at the dusty red glow of his digital clock. It's only been two hours. 

Two hours ago, Dean fell asleep clenching Castiel's coat. 

This time, Dean finds his hand instead. Holds it close against his chest. 

It's so much better than the coat. 

If Dean listens, he can almost hear more dominoes toppling to the ground.

\---

  
  
  


Dean is barely awake the night that Cas brings the old reference book. 

It's yellowed, bound in canvas, with a copyright date in Roman numerals and a dusty smell. Cas just, hands it to him. 

Dean stares at him, then at the book, for a minute or two. He blinks slowly, frowning, his brain foggy with exhaustion. And then it clicks. 

He flips sluggishly through the pages, until he finds a long, boring, wordy section on proper sentence structure, and hands it back to Cas, feeling incredibly self-conscious. 

Cas lays his hands over Dean's and gently takes the book, sliding it into his lap. 

And he starts to read. 

Dean drifts off not long after, tuning out the words and losing himself in the soft, low rumble of Castiel's voice. 

It's so much better than it was over the phone.

  
  
  


\---

  
  
  


Four nights later, Dean returns from a six hour drive completely spent, aching muscles protesting every movement. His perpetual headache pulses angrily. He stumbles into bed on top of the blanket, not even bothering to undress, and buries most of his face in the pillow with a long, ragged sigh.

Cas barely hesitates to shed his trench coat when he walks in and softly shuts the door behind him, bathing the room in shadow. He takes his spot on the edge of the bed, gathers the coat in his hands, and drapes it over Dean's body, wrapping it closely around him with what could possibly be described as…tenderness. 

The coat is still warm, still smells like Cas, and it's comforting in a nearly indescribable way. Even so, Dean flinches, still very on the fence as to whether he actually deserves this. Whether he deserves to be _tucked in_ by an angel. 

Castiel's hand lingers on his shoulder, and Dean peels his face from the pillow to look up at him. 

Cas stares back. 

Then he leans down, ever so slowly, and kisses Dean's forehead. 

Another domino falls. And it falls _hard._

  
  
  


\---

  
  
  


When the sun comes up, Dean and Castiel slip back into their ordinary routines, every night remaining a secret, but gradually they start to unconsciously draw out any physical contact they can. 

Brief touches on shoulders or arms are just a second or two longer than before. Dean isn't sure if Cas has always brushed his fingers this much when he hands him something, or if he's hyper aware of it now. Or if _he's_ actually the one doing it. 

The only thing Dean is sure of, is that during the day, he craves the closeness they've somehow developed at night. And he doesn't know how to approach the subject.

Dean _wants_ Castiel, more than he should, more than he has any right to ask for. More than anything else he wants this to really be what it feels like. Because an ever-growing ache has begun to blossom in his chest whenever he looks at Cas, and thinks about how much this feels like love. 

When he sees Cas at the breakfast table on a totally ordinary morning, and _fuck,_ every fiber of him _needs_ to kiss the bastard. The long drives with his brother snoring obliviously beside him, when his lonely mind pines for something he doesn't quite have, and tears well up in his eyes as he watches the dark road in the headlights.

If Dean is honest, this is eating him alive. It's overwhelming him. 

So why, _why_ is it still so impossible to say anything about it? 

Dean has been in danger since day fucking one. He'll fight anything that goes bump in the night without batting an eye. He's been in actual Hell, hacked and slashed his way through actual Purgatory, literally stared Death in the face. 

And yet, despite everything, Dean's own emotions have never stopped being the most daunting thing in his life. It's his fucking emotions that are gonna be the death of him.

  
  
  


\---

  
  
  


They take down a good sized vampire nest. At least 12 of them, without any fuck ups.

High on adrenaline driving back, Dean had felt awesome, victorious. Invincible. But he crashes hard, and by the time he comes home, he feels like he's only half alive. 

Numbly, Dean watches as rust colored liquid runs off his body and circles the shower drain, gradually turning clear again like muddy tap water after a storm. He can still smell the scent of the blood and miscellaneous filth that was splattered across his arms and chest only minutes ago. 

He _hates_ it.

Dean snatches one of Sam's fancy-pants hipster shampoo bars, breaks off a chunk of it, and just crumbles it between his hands. Its scent is a pleasant basil and lemon, and while smelling like a goddamn spice cabinet isn't exactly Dean's first choice, it definitely beats 6-hour-old vampire viscera. 

Dean wonders if he ought to be jerking off or something. That's what people do in the shower. But when he considers the actual effort that would take, one lousy orgasm hardly sounds worth it. He shuts off the shower.

After getting clean, Dean is feeling just a little bit more normal. He wraps himself in his dead guy robe and snags a bottle of whiskey from the kitchen table before retreating to his room. Because being clean doesn't fix everything. Admittedly, neither does alcohol, but out of the two it definitely does a better job.

For the first time since this…thing started, Dean enters to find Castiel already waiting for him. He takes a sip from the bottle to hide his surprise.

Dean wasn't expecting this, but he's not complaining either. He gives Cas a tired smile and offers him the whiskey, mostly just on principle. Cas almost refuses, but then a slight "ah, what the hell" sort of expression gets through instead, and he downs a few sips, probably just to humor Dean.

Making his way to the bed, Dean kicks his slippers off, and he crawls underneath the blanket behind where Cas is sitting. 

  
  


A bit more whiskey is consumed in the next hour than Dean might have intended. 

The bedside lamp is still on, but it's dimmed, and the room is cast in fuzzy, warm shadows. Dean watches Cas for a long time, his guardian angel silhouetted in amber light. 

So maybe it took a few drinks for Dean to forget his anxieties, but what can you do.

"Cas," he whispers, finally breaking their weird unspoken agreement on no conversations. 

Cas jumps slightly, and turns to look at him, eyes wide. He doesn’t reply, so Dean continues. 

"Why…why you always sittin' here these days?" He's not _too_ too drunk, he tells himself. His words have definitely been _more_ slurred before. "I mean…I fuckin' know _why_ , even if we don’t ever _say_ anything about it. What I'm sayin' is…" he pauses. What is he saying anyway? "What I'm _asking_ is," he amends, "why are you sitting when you…you _could_ be over here with _me_?"

Cas just stares in disbelief for several seconds. Impatient, Dean lifts his eyebrows, waiting for an answer. 

"Dean…" Cas finally says, slowly and quietly. "Are you sure you understand what it is you're asking for?"

Dean grins at him. "Uh, yeah, dummy, I'm askin' you to get your feathery ass over here." He dramatically yanks back a corner of the blanket for emphasis. Meanwhile, somewhere in the back of his mind, in a land far far away, Sober Dean can't decide if he should be cheering or all out panicking.

Cas still hesitates. "Dean, you've been drinking," he says with uncertainty. 

But Dean knows, he _knows_ that pining look in Cas' eyes, because he's seen it in the mirror. 

Dean lifts himself up on one elbow. "Okay guilty as charged but I'm not fucking blackout, Cas," he says. "Just sayin' the shit I don't have the nuts to say _without_ drinking." He watches Castiel's eyes get even bigger as he talks. " _Nobody_ needs you all the way over there ten fuckin' light years away on the edge of the bed. _I_ need you back here, buddy." Dean tugs clumsily at the back of Castiel's coat. "C'monnn, stop being so serious," he whines.

Cas shifts a little to face him, one knee up on the bed. He's reluctant, and Dean can see Cas is trying not to take advantage of him. It's sweet, but Dean doesn’t have the patience for it. 

" _Castiel,_ " he says, "Angel of the Lord. It's _fine,_ just come here. We can pretend none of this ever happened tomorrow, okay, like how we already been doing? Like that. We were gonna do that anyway, yeah? So get. Over. Here."

Cas says nothing until Dean is just about to start whining again. 

Then at last, he whispers, "Alright. Alright." He almost sounds a little sad. 

Slowly, _way_ too slowly, Cas shrugs off his coat, kicks off his shoes, and gingerly crawls under the covers beside Dean. It takes several more moments for him to actually lay his head down. 

_Finally._

Dean settles in too, and lies there facing Cas, and it feels for all the fucking world like he's floating. 

Before he can think twice, he grabs Castiel's blue tie, clumsily undoes it, and tosses it off the bed. 

"People don’t sleep in ties," Dean explains matter-of-factly. 

"I have no practical need for sleep."

Dean rolls his eyes and scoots closer to Cas. "Whatever. Pretend you do. I've seen you do it." 

Apparently Dean is all courage tonight because he turns over then, reaches back and finds Castiel's hand. He brings it to his chest, and pulls Cas close to him until their bodies fit snugly together. 

Dean doesn't even know how long he's wanted to do this. 

Too long. An overwhelming, dizzying amount of time. 

Cas is completely frozen at first, his pulse fluttering beneath Dean's fingers, heart beating wildly against Dean's back. 

Dean is nearly asleep when Cas eventually lets his tension drain away, and with it his composure. He holds Dean tightly against him, chin resting on his shoulder, and exhales a broken little sigh. It's kind of heartbreaking. 

Dean gives Castiel's hand a small squeeze. "Cas? You okay?" He whispers.

Cas nods but it feels more like a nuzzle, and Dean forgets everything for a second or two, because he's fantasized so many times about what Cas' stubble might feel like brushing his own skin. He finds himself nuzzling back, and he must be dreaming now because Cas leans right into it and sighs again, only this time, it's a soft sound of contentment.

_God,_ Dean thinks _, if that wasn’t the most beautiful sound I ever heard._

He wants to make this last—shit, he's actually _cuddling_ with Castiel—so he fights to stay awake, but he doesn't hold up for long. 

Cas is so warm, so alive but so peaceful, and he can feel the angel's rhythmic breaths against his face, and it's lulling him to sleep. 

Right now, nothing hurts. 

_Nothing hurts._

Dean slowly closes his eyes, and he slips away only a moment later. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have you washed you're hands today?


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas and Dean are like frogs getting boiled without realizing it except the pot of water is Destiel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chappy plz enjoy the angst

"Dean? Hey, you okay man? It's past noon." 

Dean wakes, disoriented, to Sam's voice outside his door. He already has a dull headache growing, and it feels like he swallowed a pound of sand. 

"Y-yeah," Dean groans. "I'm good. Just uh—" he glances down and sees Castiel's arm draped around his waist—"I-I um, I stayed up…late…" his voice falters, a strange panic rising in him as everything that went down last night comes hurtling back. 

_ Just go away, Sammy… _

"Alright." Sam doesn't sound convinced. "Well, there's breakfast but you might have to nuke it." He pats the door and walks off down the hall. 

Dean tries to breathe. 

_ What have I done? I fucking initiated a cuddle. Wearing nothing but a bathrobe no less? _

_ What was I thinking!? _

He sits up and stares at Cas, who stares back. He looks concerned, apologetic, uncertain…something. Something with sadness behind it. 

Then they both say "I'm sorry" at the same time, and Dean almost laughs. 

"You first," Cas mumbles.

Dean opens his mouth to say something, but nothing comes out. He has no goddamn idea what to say.

_ I didn’t mean it? _ Except he did mean it. 

_ Let's forget that happened?  _ Except he's gonna remember last night for the rest of his life.

_ That was a one time thing? _ Except now he needs, with his entire fucking soul, for that to be an every time thing. 

_ But what if it was all in my head _ , Dean suddenly wonders with a sinking, cold, gut wrenching feeling.  _ What if Cas did this just to make me happy? What if he was uncomfortable the whole time? Did I fucking— _

"Cas, did I coerce you?" Dean blurts out before he can stop himself. 

He watches Castiel's fingers curl to grasp the fabric beneath them. His pale blue eyes reflect something akin to fear. Dean immediately starts hating himself. 

Then Castiel shakes his head. 

Dean can't believe what he's just seen. "I-I didn't?" He squeaks. 

"You didn’t," Cas whispers.

Dean blinks. "So—so you were okay with...with what happened? You're okay with last night?"

Cas nods, and it's sincere. Dean knows because he's seen Cas lie, and this...this is not a lie.

Dean just stares, his brain spinning, exploding with a jumble of incoherent thought.

A knock at the door makes them both jump.

Sam is back. 

"Hey Dean, sorry to be on your case again, but do you know if Cas went somewhere last night? I can't find him anywhere but his phone's still here." There's a hint of worry in his tone. 

"I'm here," Cas says automatically, and then his face instantly changes to a picture perfect "oh shit" look.

Dean's sure he looks the exact same. This dumb ass just blew their cover.

"Oh! Uh, okay!" Why the fuck does Sam sound a little bit  _ triumphant _ right now? "Um, hi I guess? Anyway I'm…I'm looking at some stuff. In the library. Was gonna ask if you'd dive into it with me, y'know just to have a second—" Sam stops himself. "You know what, never mind, Cas, it's cool, you uh…you stay in there. Research later." He almost sounds giddy, like he's trying to hold back from bursting into a fucking Disney song. 

Dean listens as his brother's footsteps practically dance away. "The fuck is he all hopped up about?" He wonders aloud.

Cas shrugs, and Dean notices the pink tint on his face, and Jesus fucking  _ Christ _ if that is not the cutest thing he's ever—

"We should get up," Cas says, interrupting Dean's inner chick flick monologue. He picks up his trench coat as he leaves the bed, hastily putting it on.

So they really aren't gonna talk about last night. Okay. Fine.

Dean lingers under the blanket, watching Cas gather his things with a frustrating sense of helplessness. He wants to bitch at Cas for chickening out, but he's no better. They're both stuck, afraid to go forward, afraid of what's next, but a whole lot more fucking dominoes toppled over last night, and they can't go back. 

Dean self-consciously tightens his robe around himself. He says nothing as Cas slips out of the room, leaving him alone with his chaotic thoughts. 

  
  


\---

  
  
Sam was all smiles that day, and Dean's sure he gossiped to Mom too, because they shared conspiratorial looks whenever he interacted with Cas. Dean is relieved to get away from all that annoying high school shit when the evening rolls around(and he tries to convince himself that's the  _ only _ reason he's glad it's evening).

What the hell made them so happy about finding out Cas had been in his room? 

_ Does Sam know? Has he known all along? _

Dean shakes his head. He can't think about all this right now. He can't think about anything, really, except counting the minutes until he has Cas again. He keeps checking the time as if that will make it go faster, keeps watching the door, waiting on tenterhooks for it to slowly open with that familiar slight creak. 

Now that Dean has learned what it feels like to have Castiel  _ with him,  _ snuggled up against him all through the night, just once was enough to render him completely spellbound. He  _ needs  _ it again.

Dean paces, sits down, gets back up, wrings his hands, but nothing relieves the drought that's inside of him. It's like a mile of string is wrapped around his lungs, allowing him nothing more than the air to stay alive, and it won't unravel, it won't let him take a full breath until Castiel touches him again. 

It may as well have been a year that Dean waited and pined before Cas finally shows up. 

Dean thinks he might understand now, how lost sailors in the past must've felt when they spotted land. Because that's how he fucking feels when Cas steps through that doorway. He's dressed down a bit, no trench coat, no shoes. Still not what anyone would wear to bed, but he's trying. And it's sweet.

Dean gives him a lame little wave, then ducks his head and half-turns away, attempting to hide a grin that's so stupid wide it's making his face hurt. 

When Cas pads his way over and sits carefully next to him on the edge of the bed, Dean instantly becomes a teenager again. He doesn't even have the nerve to look at Cas. His heart is pounding. His bare foot is just barely brushing Cas', and he's acutely aware of it. And he can just  _ tell _ Cas is making those soft eyes at him, that expression he could fucking drown in.

Dean doesn't usually turn off the light before he's actually in bed, but he makes an exception this time, then scrambles under the blankets in almost the same movement.

Cas waits for Dean to settle in a bit before carefully joining him. Dean takes a shuddering breath when he feels Cas put an arm around him, when the string finally unwraps.

"Is this okay?" Cas whispers, warm over the shell of Dean's ear. 

"Yeah," Dean breathes, "yeah, Cas, it's really, really okay."

"Okay." This time Castiel's lips are brushing against his ear, and suddenly Dean is very glad he's the little spoon because that...that shit is _ hot. _ And now he has to try and think of  _ anything else  _ because being in bed with Cas is feeling a lot different now than it did a minute ago. Dean can't let it feel different, though. No, not when they haven't even talked about what this is, they haven't even defined what's actually between them. 

Whatever this is, all Dean knows for sure is that it's fucking complicated.

  
  


\---

  
  
At first Dean assumed he was just reading into things too much. But he's getting less and less certain of that. 

Hunts are definitely different lately. Cas has gotten so protective of Dean, he's developed a heightened sense of security. Cas barely lets any monster touch him, and Heaven help the ones who manage to. 

Of course, Cas has always looked out for Dean a bit more than he does everyone else, but it's being taken up a few notches.

It's nice at first, and Dean feels loved and important. That's until he starts worrying. He starts envisioning Cas going out of his way to protect him, and getting hurt. Or worse. 

He's not sure if confronting Cas is the right thing to do in this case, but, well, he does it anyway, because he's a disaster. 

"Okay, what's the deal with this?" Dean demands one night after Cas takes a shotgun blast for him. Cas is leaning against the brick wall of the abandoned factory they've just cleared out, slowly healing himself. Sammy is still inside, bathing the whole place in gasoline. It wasn't monsters. Just people, really fucked up people, and Dean is a little more disturbed and a lot more shaken than he would ever admit. 

"With what?" Cas asks. 

"With…with  _ this,  _ Cas!" Dean wildly gestures at generally everything going on. "This being my human shield thing!"

Cas pauses. "I'm not human, though," he says simply.

Frustrated, Dean stares up at the sky and tries not to make a scene. 

"What if some asshole comes at me with an angel blade, huh?" He snaps back. "You gonna be my hero for that too?" 

"Dean, I'm not having this argument with you."

"Well that's too fucking bad, Cas, 'cause yeah you are!" Dean is just so agitated, he can't help raising his voice.

Finally Cas grabs Dean by the shoulder and turns him around. His eyes are piercing. It's that righteously pissed off look he gets sometimes. 

"You're important to me," he growls, "isn't that reason enough?"

Dean is caught off guard. He hadn't expected an answer so blunt. 

So he doesn't have any time to double check how he responds. 

"So I don't get to worry about  _ you? _ " He says. "You're important too, you dick! Ever think about that? Ever think I might be sick and tired of people I love getting hurt because of me?!"

Just a second too late, Dean catches up to himself as he watches Castiel's entire demeanor shed all traces of hostility. Dean's heart skips a beat when he realizes what caused that reaction. 

_ Oh fuck,  _ he shouts inwardly.  _ Fuck, I just said the L word! _

_ Oh God I've really done it now— _

Neither of them moves, both knowing what the other is thinking. Picturing the past several nights. The moments that don't exist in the daylight. 

_ Okay, calm down,  _ Dean thinks.  _ Didn't say anything direct, right? We can forget about this.  _

_ Right? _

_ Then why is he looking at me like that?! _

Dean's brain is chaos.

Cas takes a breath. "I understand, Dean," he says, very softly, "and I'm sorry. I didn't think..." 

Dean doesn't dare look down, but he feels Cas' hand brush against his, just for a second. Whether intentionally or not, he doesn't know.

And then Sam shows up.

Dean isn't sure if he's relieved or dismayed to have whatever that was be interrupted, but he does what he knows how to do. He flips right back to normal, and Cas does too, and they torch the factory and head out, just like any other day. Aside from a couple of glances in the rearview mirror, it's as if nothing happened. As if nothing was said that should totally be talked about.

And Dean lets it be that way, because he's fucking chicken. He spends the rest of his waking hours killing time until he can go to sleep with Cas again, as if he has any right.

\---

  
  
Dean nearly has a heart attack when he finds Castiel in the hallway that night, leaning on the wall opposite his bedroom. 

He's wearing an uncharacteristic tee shirt and a faded, worn pair of slacks. Probably the closest he'll ever get to pajamas. His eyes meet Dean's, and a long moment crawls by. 

Cas doesn't have any different look than usual, and though Dean knows they couldn't possibly forget what he let slip earlier, he can see that Cas doesn't intend on pushing to talk about it. 

Dean is grateful for that, because he's too worn out to dissect his emotions right now, least of all the ones he can't tackle. So he simply goes to his door, opens it. Steps just inside.

And he holds it open. 

Cas lifts his eyebrows very slightly, unsure, waiting for a confirmation. 

Dean nods.

Cas walks in, and Dean shuts the door behind him. 

They face each other, like they have all those times before, but this time is different. So many things that neither of them can put to words are exchanged in this look. Years of living, dying, agony, joy. Betrayal and forgiveness. 

_ I love him,  _ is the only thought Dean can understand.  _ God, I love him.  _

Dean holds out his hand, and Cas takes it. Together, they move to the bed, and Dean doesn’t let his breath out until they're both under the covers. He switches the lamp off, and they lie quietly in the dark, nothing but the sounds of their breathing coloring the silence.

Eventually, Cas turns to Dean and slowly slips an arm around his waist. Dean moves close to him, laying his forehead against Castiel's chest. For a long time, he lies awake, still wrapping his head around all of this. 

He's actually sharing a bed with Cas. For the third time. 

People who are just friends, don't share beds in a normal, not camping, not a slumber party, not freezing to death setting. If nothing else, Dean is sure of that. 

This has to be love. Right?

_ It has to be,  _ he thinks.

_ Please love me back. I don't want anything else, just please love me back. _

  
  


\---

  
Werewolves are Dean's least favorite monster to hunt. There's never just one, always a whole bunch of them. 

The teeth.

The eyes.

The snarling and barking.

It's all just… a little  _ too familiar.  _

Logically, Dean knows that nobody would actually judge him if he talked about it, but that does little to erase the deep sense of shame he feels around this specific fear. It doesn't get rid of his stubborn unwillingness to admit that he still has this fear after so many years. 

He should be over it. He should be able to do a job as simple as a werewolf hunt without drowning in terror as soon as he tries to sleep. 

He should be able to look at a werewolf, a regular old piece of shit werewolf, and not see a hellhound every time.

He should be able to go to bed after those jobs and not dream of being ripped apart by vicious beasts. 

But Dean does anyway. He dreams of the night he was taken to Hell, the night everything changed, the night he would never truly come back from. He dreams of teeth and claws, punching into his skin and shredding flesh, snapping bone, splattering his blood across the ground. 

It's always the same. Dean returns to Hell in his nightmares, dragged there bleeding and screaming just like the first time. He sees the glint of blades, feels the searing pain and the lick of flames at his feet. The cool embrace of iron around his wrists, of the shackles that had begun to provide a twisted sort of comfort a few years in, because when he was restrained, Dean didn't have to think about why he wasn't fighting anymore.

Sometimes Hell hadn't been hot. Sometimes it was cold, a piercing, ruthless cold that seeped in so deep, Dean would forget what it was like to be warm. He would be left there, in a featureless box, freezing. 

Until Alistair returned to torment him. But he'd wait  _ years  _ in between, and Dean despised himself more and more each time, because he began to count the days until he saw Alistair again. He would sob with relief just to see someone,  _ anyone, _ it didn't matter who it was. It didn't matter that those spidery hands were only there to torture and violate him, because he hadn't felt anything warm in  _ years. _

Dean had started to crave those visits, even tried to convince the demon to stay a little longer.

Alistair hadn't even blinked. He just chuckled. 

_ "Beg." _

_ Dean is on his knees, bleeding from more wounds than he can remember, missing a couple of fingers, disoriented, shivering. But he doesn't even think twice. In tears, he begs. _

_ "Please, Master." He's long since given up refusing to use that title. "Please, I don't care what you do to me, just don't leave me here again, please, please don't leave me here." _

_ "Well. Since you asked so nicely…" Alistair pauses for way too long. _

_ "Please." Dean's voice is barely a whisper. _

_ "...mmmmm, decline. See you in 4 years, sweetheart." _

_ And he's gone.  _

_ Alone again in that cold, empty nothing, Dean picks up his severed fingers from the floor and stares at them. Stares until he lets out the scream that had been clawing its way up his throat.  _

_ He's still not sure if he ever stopped screaming during those 4 years. _

  
  


That's usually right around the time that Dean wakes himself up. On a normal night, he'd probably drink a lot and cry a little and never get back to sleep, telling himself to suck it up in the morning. A month ago, he would've done the same, only with Michael's joyful cackling in his head.

This time, Dean isn't alone when he wakes. Micheal sounds like he's everywhere and nowhere at once and— _ who the fuck _ —?! 

For a moment, Dean thrashes wildly on instinct, trying to get away, to fight off whoever is here, but they wrap both arms around him and gently hold him still until the panic subsides. 

"You were dreaming," Cas murmurs, his warm breath brushing over the back of Dean's ear, so close. "Just dreaming. You're safe, Dean. You're safe. Everything is okay." 

_ Oh. _

_ That's right. It's Cas. _

Dean clings to every word. 

Dean tunes out Micheal.

_ I'm safe. _

He presses himself against Cas, panting as he winds down from the spike of adrenaline. 

" _ Hell, _ " Dean whispers hoarsely, barely hearing himself over his own pounding heart. He could swear he feels Cas flinch, and in some bizarre way it's comforting, the reminder that Cas knows what Hell was like, and even he's disturbed by it. 

Cas reaches down and pulls the blanket up to their necks, bundling it around them to create the cocoon of security that always works so well when you're a kid. Of course, it still works now, but nobody besides Cas ever needs to know that.

"If there is anything I can do…" Cas says softly, trailing off into a hint of a question.

Dean almost laughs.  _ He's such a fucking saint. _

"This is already a lot more than I deserve, Cas," he says instead.

"Dean, you're not a bad person." Castiel's voice rumbles through Dean's ribs and it gives him chills. 

"I was. I  _ was _ bad. In Hell," Dean croaks. "I let myself become a monster, I  _ chose _ to and I can't ever forget that, it's never gonna leave me."

"Hell does not define you," Cas replies firmly, and he holds Dean a little tighter. "Don't you forget that either, you hear me?"

Dean closes his eyes and nods, feeling tears slip down his cheeks. 

_ You're too good for me, _ he wants to say.  _ But I love you so much it's driving me mad. _

He can't though. Dean can't say those things, so he takes a chance on going back to sleep instead. It takes a while, but eventually, he actually does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, you're all too fuckin sweet. Have you noticed you look cute today? Have you taken your meds today? Drink some water or else


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get even gayer but also a n g s t i e r

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chappy yeeteth

Dean soon discovers that his car is included in the list of places he can cuddle Cas and still pretend it away the next day. 

It was an easy hunt, just something Dean picked up to get out of the house for a while. But Cas insisted on going along, and Dean had no reasons to decline that actually made any sense. Sam had decided to sit out, telling them to "have fun" in that  _ way  _ he's been saying things to them lately. 

While still a walk in the park, the job had ended up keeping them just a day longer than they had planned for, which landed them in Hotel Impala for the night. 

Dean has been fiercely avoiding thinking about it all day. But eventually he can't hide. 

Rolling to a stop in a deserted park-n-ride, Dean takes a deep breath, resolutely shuts off the engine, and then just sits still, his hand frozen on the keys. His eyes flicker to the back seat, then to Cas, wondering which of them will be bunking in which half of the car. 

"Your choice. I don't actually sleep," Cas says, his tone far too neutral considering Dean is positive neither of them are actually thinking about logistics.

"Yeah. Duh. Of course." Dean tries to laugh, but it falls short, and does nothing to ease the growing tension. Their eyes meet, and Dean can't read what was communicated in that look, but what if Cas thinks he can, or what if Cas can't read it either, or what if there wasn't actually something at all—

"Okay," Dean says in a rush, "I'll just, um...yeah." 

He clambers out of the car and into the back seat, but he's too wound up to lie down. After an unfairly long moment, Cas throws an elbow over the back of his seat and twists around to look at Dean. His eyes are a chilled shade of gray in the low light, but they're soft. Inviting. Asking. 

Dean may have been illiterate in look reading a minute ago, but  _ this _ one, he knows. 

In response, Dean just nods, a tiny, slight nod. That's all it takes.

Despite how blessed he is to have this, despite how overwhelmingly he loves this, despite how  _ right _ he knows it will feel once he's in Castiel's arms, Dean still can't stop the way his heart starts to thud as the angel climbs into the back seat with him.

But then the door shuts, and the two of them are sealed away from the world, and just like that, they've created a perfect copy of the pocket dimension that Dean's bedroom has somehow become. 

They move in unison, as if this had all been choreographed weeks in advance. They kick off their shoes and Cas reaches down to retrieve an old fleece blanket from the floor. Shaking it from its folded shape, he stretches his legs out across the seat, and Dean settles himself in between them, laying his head against Castiel's chest. Dean's eyes are half-closed in seconds, but a moment later he feels the blanket being draped over him, and then, finally, Castiel's arms around him. He watches the illuminated particles of dust from the blanket drift by, and they look like stars.

Dean lets out all the stress of the day in one breath, and for now at least, all his worries about  _ this _ are let out too. He relaxes completely, melted down by the warmth of Castiel's body beneath him, until he can't refuse the pull of sleep.

Probably a couple of hours later, something's caused Dean to wake, but by the time he's a bit more conscious, he doesn't remember what it was. 

Dean's brain is hazy, still fogged up by sleep, and for a few minutes he just lies there, watching a little orange stripe of light he can see, and listening to the distant whisper of vehicles out on the road somewhere. 

Then he feels Castiel's arms tighten, and he hears the quivering, bitten off breath. And he knows it couldn't be anything else that had woken him up.

Cas is quietly crying.

And  _ God _ it fucking hurts to hear it. 

Dean will never forgive himself if he pretends to be asleep now. 

"Cas. You alright?" He whispers, lifting his head a bit to try and get a look at Cas. It's too dark to really read an expression, but Dean can see the muscles in his face twitch. 

"Yes," Cas replies after a moment, but he sounds way too certain to be sincere, and his voice is rough with emotion. 

He's not alright. But Dean has no idea how to help him. Cas clearly doesn't want to share, and Dean doesn't want to push him into it, and besides, if the reason is what Dean thinks it is—something to do with the two of them—he doesn't have  _ half _ the guts to bring it up.

So instead, Dean just snuggles closer to him, hoping Cas can somehow feel what he wants to say. Hoping Cas can sense the love that feels so intensely absolute, Dean's fear of setting it free is the only thing managing to contain it.

In the morning, the two of them silently climb out of the back seat, take their places in the front, and Dean drives them home. They don't talk much during the ride back. But Cas eventually drapes his arm across the back of his seat, just far enough that the tips of his fingers are touching Dean's shoulder. And inside Dean's head, he's a giddy schoolgirl, but outwardly he pretends not to notice.

  
  


\---

After that night in the car, Dean finds that he's got a little more confidence in bending the rules. Where else outside his room can their bubble of happiness be created? He'll never know if he doesn't find out. 

With that in mind, the next time Cas pulls another research all-nighter, Dean hunts him down again.

He finds Cas in his usual spot on the library sofa, and it looks like he's trying to read three books at once, his brow furrowed in concentration. There's a wrinkled notepad on his lap, and he's absently chewing on the end of a pencil. Dean's observation ends right there, because his brain screeched to a halt on that pencil and abruptly shut down.

Not only does Dean fucking adore seeing Cas pick up human habits, but the damn thing is in his  _ mouth  _ for God's sake. Dean is mesmerized, wondering why the fuck he can't catch a break. 

Cas is so into his book that it takes him a minute to even realize he's no longer alone. But when he does, he looks up, the pencil still between his teeth for one divine second before he takes it out.

And it's fucking  _ wet _ now. This isn't even fair.  _ Don't look at the pencil. Do not look at the pencil. Look  _ anywhere _ except the pencil.  _

_ God I wish I was that pencil. _

"Hello Dean," Cas says, true to form as usual. 

"Hey," Dean says, trying his best to sound casual. "You know you're eating the wrong end of that, right?"

Cas tilts his head in confusion. 

"You're supposed to chew the eraser, not the half that you write with," Dean explains with an amused grin. 

"I was not aware of that. But I tried both ends, and this end tastes better," Cas says, dead serious.

Dean chuckles, shaking his head, and before he can think twice about it, he plunks down next to Cas.

After a moment or two, Cas reaches out to close a couple of the books, but he doesn't shift his gaze from Dean. "Tired?" He asks, almost a whisper. 

Dean fights the urge to just outright ask when he's coming to bed. Instead, he just nods. 

"Well. I'll be a little longer," Cas says, "but you're welcome to stay." His eyes are soft and kind, but Dean can see something else there too. A strange sort of melancholy. Weariness, maybe.

_ He's getting tired of me, isn't he. _

_ Please don't get tired of me just yet. _

Neither of them say it, but they both know why Dean is here, so for once, he cuts to the chase. He pulls his feet up onto the cushions and snuggles against Castiel's shoulder. Cas wraps an arm around him, and resumes studying the book he'd left open. Dean even surprised himself with how easy that was. 

It really feels like they're a thing. Like this is another ordinary night, Dean curling up on the couch with Cas, the angel who is  _ not _ just a friend, but a  _ partner.  _ Like it's just one of the many little comforts shared by two people who would go to the ends of the Earth for each other. Like tomorrow night will be like this, and the one after that, and on and on. Like they don't hide it in the daytime, and when morning comes Cas will make coffee, and Dean will lean against him, sleepily watching it drip into the pot, and he'll yawn constantly. And then Cas will yawn too, because even if you don't sleep, yawns are contagious.

Dean begins to doze off, pretending all that stuff is real, hoping that's what will occupy his dreams in place of the usual horrors. 

Perhaps it's his imagination, but just as his mind is slipping out of consciousness, Dean hears Cas softly say something. It takes him a second to unscramble the words.

_ "Dean...does this make you happy?" _

Dean snuggles closer, and the world feels too fuzzy and warm to think too hard about the question. "Course it does," he mumbles into Castiel's shoulder. 

Cas whispers something back, and he sounds sad. But Dean is too tired to decipher it this time, and he drifts off moments later.

Dean dreams of the lake he visits often when he's not having nightmares. He's in his usual spot, sat at the end of the dock, staring out across the shimmering water, and watching insects drift lazily in the late afternoon sun. Dean isn't fishing this time, just sitting and enjoying the peace. 

He's not even startled when Cas appears beside him. He looks up at the angel and smiles, but Cas looks distant and sad. Dean's smile falls away, replaced with concern. 

"Hey," he says softly. "What's wrong, Cas?"

"Nothing." Cas looks away from him. "Everything," he amends quietly.

"Okay. Talk to me," Dean says, though he's pretty sure he knows what's going on. But this is a dream. Maybe he can be a little less afraid here, where nobody will ever know what he's confessed to his own subconscious mind. 

"Why?" Cas asks, and his voice is fragmented and bitter. "Why are you doing this?"

Dean is taken aback, and he wants to ask what this is about, but then he sees the slight, nearly imperceptible flash of a challenge in Castiel's eyes. Daring him to play innocent. 

Dean sighs and turns his gaze back to the lake. 

_ It's just a dream,  _ he reminds himself.  _ It doesn't matter what I say. _

"I don't know," Dean admits. "It's...it's just easier...I think."

Even as he's saying them, the words sound so fucking  _ shitty.  _

_ I love him. I love him, and this is what I'm giving him? _

_ God, _ Dean thinks, _ I am the worst. _

" _ Easier. _ " 

Cas sounds so hurt. But still, Dean can't seem to push himself to say anything more, even if it is a dream.

Dean slowly turns to look at Cas again. 

He blinks at the deserted dock behind him.

Cas has disappeared without a single trace. 

The light dims, and Dean shivers in a sudden chill that seeps down to his bones, an inescapable, ruthless cold. 

It's then that he realizes—when Castiel vanished, so did the sun.

  
  


\---

  
  


There are two types of Cas dreams. The ones that are purely Dean's imagination (he knows those all too well), and the ones that are actually the real Cas entering his dream. Technically, he can't tell the difference unless Cas says anything about it. 

Of course, it's usually easy to know which dreams are fantasies–specifically the ones he's deeply ashamed of. The ones that he wakes up from breathless and hard, the ones that make him terrified to even look at Cas for at least the rest of the day.

But that last dream, with Cas visiting him on the dock, has Dean worried, because he's really not sure if it had been just his imagination. In the morning, Castiel's lack of any indication that it had been him only made Dean worry more. 

Hoping to see Cas give something away, Dean steals glances at him all day long, growing more and more certain of what he'd feared. Dean's efforts turn up nothing out of the ordinary though, and that evening, Cas comes by as usual to crawl into bed with him. 

Dean feels guilty and horrible, but he doesn't refuse Castiel's embrace, because he needs it like water now. 

Like  _ sunlight. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm half aksleepe andm I'd ljme you a ll to know my doggo is the best Boi and your all great yup okxgood night 2\òg


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shit gets real gay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoa I'm baaaack with a chappyyyyy

For another week, Dean and Cas go on the same way, no more than friends during the day, but spending each night holding each other close like it’s the last time they ever will. As if something's convinced them this is actually sustainable. 

Nobody makes a move to take it further, and they barely exchange any words once they're together. It's not for a lack of things to say. Dean has a hundred things he wants to say. But he doesn't dare. On these nights, their wordless synchronicity is all that exists, and it feels like such a fragile balance that anything more could break the spell. 

Dean really did think he could get used to this, and be satisfied with only loving Castiel quietly at night, with the angel's breathing drowning out Michael like nothing else could, those strong arms embracing him, comforting him, until they weren't. 

Dean was wrong. 

Each day gets more and more painful. Dean feels like he's suffocating, slowly burning away with every hour of daylight. Like he's just downsliding gradually faster and nobody fucking warned him when it was going to start, and now he's picking up speed and he can't stop. Cas has always been a master at poker facing, but Dean's pretty sure he's not imagining the agonized looks Cas has begun to give him, when he thinks Dean doesn't notice. Maybe sometimes he stays stupidly oblivious, but when he's not, Dean will look back at Cas, and his chest will physically hurt. 

It's all too much, too unbearable. The yearning, the fear, the implications that Cas could have some kind of feelings—  _ and what if he does, God what if he does— _ it all circles around Dean's mind until it's a cyclone, uprooting everything in its path before dashing it back to Earth to break apart. 

Dean can't focus on anything, only half listening to Sam read some gross police report. He's just unable to take his eyes off of Cas, who is methodically packing their bags across the room. 

Sam, who's been bombarding the two of them with sideways glances whenever possible, waves his hand in front of Dean's face. 

"Hey. Hello. Ground control to Dean, do you copy?" He says with a hint of amusement. 

Dean leans his head away, blinking several times to make up for all the blinks he forgot to do in the past few minutes. 

He glares at Sam. "What?"

"Did you hear  _ any _ of what I just read?"

"Yeah of course I did," Dean says indignantly, knowing he probably couldn’t repeat much of it to save his life. 

Sam raises an eyebrow, unconvinced. "Well in that case," he says, snapping his laptop shut and looking pointedly at Dean, "I guess I'll go load up the car." He grabs their luggage and makes a big show of walking out, probably trying to call Dean out on his bluff.

Dean rolls his eyes, far too stubborn to admit he has no idea where they're headed today. 

It only takes Dean a second or two to realize he's being watched. Cas is leaning on the end of the table, both palms flat against it, and he's just staring, lips slightly parted, eyes burning with a dark intensity. Dean squirms under the scrutiny, his fingers curling in his lap, but he says nothing. 

Cas suddenly swoops around the table towards Dean, stopping across from him. The movement is swift and bold,  _ dangerous, _ and for a second Dean is back in that barn all those years ago, sparks raining down around him, heart pounding against his ribs. Genuinely afraid he's about to meet his end as he white-knuckles the knife in his hand. For a second, Dean is helpless, staring into the face of some terribly powerful new creature. He can still remember how his stomach dropped as he'd watched this thing take bullet after bullet without so much as a twitch. 

Except this time, that creature— that  _ angel, _ has a name, the name Dean whispers at night when he needs to feel safe. This time he's in love with the damn angel, and somehow that's made it even scarier.

Cas places his hands on the table again, leaning forward until he's right in Dean's space, barely inches away. The very air between them feels electric. Dean is rooted to the spot, holding his breath, transfixed. 

"Dean." Castiel's voice is low, like he's making sure nobody else will hear it. "You have  _ no idea _ how much I want you."

_ Wait. _

Dean's jaw drops, and he can feel his face burning. 

_ What?! _

He can't get a single syllable of a reply to form in his brain. Dean isn't sure what he was expecting, but he was definitely  _ not _ expecting Cas to just walk up and turn him on like that.

_ Oh God this means he does have feelings, fuck, he has feelings, fuck, fuck, fuck, what am I going— _

Castiel leans in even closer, and Dean meets his eyes, and his breath catches when he sees the flicker of desperation there.

"I can't play at this anymore, Dean," Castiel whispers harshly. " _ I can't. _ "

"Cas—" Dean chokes on the name, and no more words get out. He just sits there, hands shaking under the table.

Then, of course, Sam comes back in. "Okay guys we're good to g…" he trails off, stopping short with a puzzled look. "Um. I'll actually just…go wait for you guys."

"We're ready," Cas says stiffly, and in a second he's up and striding from the room. 

Dean stares in shock at the spot Cas has just vacated. He swallows hard and tries to put his brain back together, but he might as well be using a glue stick. He's rattled.

Sam hangs back, glancing between Dean and Cas for a moment. He puts his hand on Dean's shoulder. 

"Hey. You alright, Dean? What just happened there?"

Dean just shakes his head. He's so flooded with emotions, he's afraid he'll break down if he speaks now. 

_ I can't.  _ That's what Cas said.

Dean follows his brother to the car, clouds of fear and doubt swimming in his mind, cold.

_ I can't. _

Dean drives, laser focused on the road to avoid looking in the rearview mirror. He's unable to stop thinking about the pain in Castiel's eyes. The same pain he's been harboring himself. Dean's hands tremble to the same fretful rhythm as his pulse. He tries to hold them still but it only seems to make them shake more.

_ I can't. _

Cas is done. That’s what he was saying, wasn’t it? 

Dean can't lose him now. They got so far, and he knows he's scared to go farther. But losing Cas?  _ Really  _ losing him? That’s so, so much fucking worse.

  
  


\---

Sam leans into the driver's side window and hands Dean a key card. 

"So they had a double and a single vacant," he says quietly as soon as Cas disappears inside the hotel. "I'm taking the single, and you two are in the double."

Dean immediately opens his mouth to protest, but Sam doesn’t let him.

"Nope, Dean, this is final," he says firmly. "You and Cas clearly need to work something out, and you've been spooked since we left, so just get it over with, man."

Dean is starting to feel panicky. "Dammit...Sam you don't understand—it's-it's not—"

"Dean. Dude. Chill out," Sam says, dropping his voice a bit lower. "Listen, you're gonna be  _ fine. _ Whatever this is, you guys can fix it, like always. I'm rooting for you, okay? Trust me, this is in your best interest." He opens the car door. "Now get out there and give it your best shot."

"Guess I don’t have much of a choice, do I?" Dean sighs.

"Besides, if you can't work it out, there's two beds in there for a reason," Sam adds before marching off.

"What the Hell's that supposed to mean?!" Dean shouts after him, but Sam's already disappeared inside the hotel. Dean groans in frustration and goes around to the back for his bags. He lingers, hiding behind the wall of the open trunk to take a breath or two, before slamming it shut and heading inside, anxiety slicing away at his nerves. 

The moment the door to room 207 closes behind Dean, the tension in the air is pulled tight, ready to snap. He could swear he hears it, buzzing ominously around them.

Castiel is faced away from him, crouched by the mini fridge, busying himself unloading leftover takeout and bottled water into it. His trench coat is piled unceremoniously on the nearby bed, as if he tore it off and just kinda hurled it in that general direction. Dean sees him twitch ever so slightly at the sound of the door, but he doesn’t look up from his task, and Dean doesn’t move either. 

Inevitably, Cas runs out of things to put in the fridge, and Dean watches his shoulders rise up, then slowly down, before he finally turns. He stands, fixing Dean with a steely gaze, his posture rigid as if he's expecting a fight. 

Dean starts to say something–he's not even sure what–but he doesn't get the chance. 

" _ No, _ " Cas says sharply. "Just  _ don't. _ "

Dean gulps and moves slowly into the room as Castiel's eyes follow him. He drops his duffel bag on one of the beds and faces Cas.

Dean reaches for his shoulder, but as soon as he makes contact, Cas suddenly shoves him away. Dean staggers backwards a bit too far, and he lands hard on the bed behind him.

Cas advances until he's standing over Dean, and his eyes begin to burn with a different light. Something dark and aggressive and...frankly, kinda hot. Dean bites his lip, intently watching that set jaw, that slow lift of an eyebrow that always makes him weak. If Dean could hear the tension before, now he can see it, feel it,  _ taste it. _

One moment, you could hear a pin drop all the way down the street. 

The next, Cas is on him, one knee sunk into the bed. He snatches the front of Dean's shirt in both hands, but instead of hauling him up, Cas lifts him only a few inches and leans in, leaving barely a space between them. 

"It's  _ easier, _ is it?" Cas growls, and Dean's breath catches as he realizes the reference. They've already had half of this conversation.

"Cas, Cas listen...I just—"

"No, you  _ fucking _ listen for once, Dean!" Cas drags him even closer. "Did you ever think to consider my side of this? It is  _ only _ easier for _ you. _ Just. You. And I'm supposed to stay in this–this  _ limbo  _ indefinitely? I don't know how you could possibly see this as easy because it's—" he stops and slowly inhales, as if he's reigning in his anger to keep from exploding— "it is  _ very difficult _ for me!"

Dean can't decide if he's intimidated or incredibly aroused, and it seems reasonable to go with both. Shaking a little, he just nods. "You're right," he admits in a whisper, because the truth is, the only way this can be called easy is when he compares it to the petrifying alternative of baring his soul.

Cas seethes for a few more seconds before his anger seems to burn off. He lets Dean go and moves to the other side of the room, without another word or even a glance. Dean stays right where he is, stock-still, his heart pounding and fingers curled up in the blankets, trying to process what the fuck just happened. Some of what Cas said to him just gets grayed out in Dean's head, filed away because he doesn't know what it would do to him if he looked at those words. Filed away with any other time Cas has ever implied that he wants something more.

The rest of the night is quiet and very uneasy. Dean doesn't sleep much.

  
  


\---

  
  


Besides an injury or two, the hunt goes alright, but the atmosphere between the three of them is anything but. Cas avoids working with Sam and Dean for the better part of it, opting instead to stay at the hotel, talking to people in the nearby area and texting any information. 

It's not long before Sam takes notice, and on the drive back to their hotel, he (of course) brings it up.

"Okay, Dean," he says out of nowhere. "Tell me what the hell's going on with you and Cas. C'mon. Out with it."

Dean is driving with only his right hand, nursing a bitch of a knife wound on his left shoulder. He's aching and tired and nowhere near in the mood for interrogation. "There is  _ nothing _ going on with us," he sighs stubbornly. 

Sam rolls his eyes. "Oh please, man, let's just skip over the part where you deny it, alright? I'm not blind. Cas was in your room  _ before _ you woke up a while back, you've been acting really weird around him, and now—"

Dean interrupts him. "I have  _ not _ been weird around—wait,  _ have _ I been weird around Cas?"

Sam huffs. "Uh,  _ yeah? _ Super weird."

_ Shit. Fuck. _

"Look, I–we, um…" Dean is stumbling over his words, and he needs this conversation to be over. He takes a breath. "I–I kinda hurt him, I think. Like, his feelings, I mean. And I wanna fix it, I do… but it's really fuckin' complicated, and I'm… I'm still figuring shit out, I guess."

Okay, so maybe it felt good to say it out loud. But Dean's not planning on admitting that.

"Jeez, Dean," Sam says, and he sounds 100% done. "Have you really learned nothing from all the chick flicks we both know you watch?"

Dean shoots him a glare. "Shut your mouth," he grumbles.

"Seriously," Sam says, a bit softer now. "I'm willing to bet it's a lot less complicated than you think."

Dean doesn't respond. 

They ride on, silence stretching out long enough that it's no longer awkward or charged, it just is. 

Until Sam pipes up again. 

"But you guys  _ are _ a thing now, right?"

Dean practically jumps out of his seat.

_ A thing.  _

_ A thing?!  _

_ He knows. Sam knows. He's always known, hasn't he? He's probably known from the very fucking beginning, God I'm such a fucking dumb— _

"I will make you get out and walk, Sammy," Dean growls. "You feel lucky?"

Sam rolls his eyes and puts his hands up. "Fine, fine," he sighs. "Drama queen."

Dean gives Sam a nasty look but he lets the exchange end there. The last thing he wants to do is accidentally start it back up again.

When they arrive at the hotel, it takes several minutes of working up to it before Dean actually finds the bravery to open the door to room 207.

The dry creak of the floorboards as he steps inside sounds uncomfortably loud, and it's only worsened by Castiel's very deliberate lack of reaction. He's got his eyes fixed on the laptop, presumably doing research, but Dean's pretty sure that's a front. Cas' entire body is tense, like a crouching cat ready to pounce in a second. Cas doesn't move, doesn't look up, but his grip tightens where his hand is resting on the edge of the desk.

Dean pretends not to notice Cas pretending not to notice, and starts to make his way towards the bathroom. He almost gets there before Castiel appears behind him and spins him around. Dean is too surprised to react. He glances up, and for a second, he wants to think he saw a flicker of softness in Cas' stormy eyes. But Cas quickly looks back down again and starts unbuttoning Dean's shirt.

_ Wait. _

_ Starts unbuttoning—?! _

Dean jumps a bit and instinctively tries to back up because  _ what the—  _ but Cas gives him a look and tugs him back by the collar. It's only when Cas slides Dean's shirt off enough to expose his left shoulder, that his brain finally catches up and realizes what's going on. It still does nothing to change how good it feels to have Cas' warm hands on his skin. Cas, who is clearly not done being pissed off but still uses a touch so gentle that Dean barely feels a thing, even as he lifts off the hastily applied bandage and lays his hand over the wound. Cas, the literal and figurative angel. 

Dean is sure he's shaking a little now. He tries not to let his shoulders relax as the golden light pours from Cas' hand and takes his pain away. He tries not to sigh. He fails at both. Dean just stands there stupidly as Cas covers him back up, not bothering to redo any of the buttons.

"Th–thanks," Dean manages to mumble.

Cas just turns around and goes back to the desk without a word, leaving him there to be a nervous mess. 

Dean wants there to be more. He wants to be following Cas, he wants to be draping his arms around Cas' shoulders as soon as he sits back down. He wants to be asking when Cas is gonna be done so he can come to bed. He wants so much more.

At the very least, Dean just wants to talk to Cas.

But Dean knows not to push his luck, so he slinks across the room and quietly gets ready for bed, as the air grows so thick with unsaid words he can barely breathe. 

Another night sleeping alone feels like impending death. But Dean doesn't have a lot of other options.

_ I did this, _ he thinks as he curls up in bed, facing the wall, wide awake.  _ Got nobody else to blame. I waited too long and I fucked it all up. _

Dean wants to believe that it's not too late to fix things. Everything they've been through—they've fixed worse, haven't they? That's what he's telling himself, but doubt is seeping in anyway, cold and greasy in his veins, and the maelstrom of fear and worry that's gathering inside won't let him sleep. Because deep down he knows that they've fixed some real serious shit, but  _ never  _ this. This doesn't even fall into the same category as a single one of their past troubles. There's nothing Dean can fall back on, no past mistakes to look out for, no map on an alien planet. He's screwed. There's no way he's gonna sleep.

After probably an hour or two of agonizing in the dark, Dean sits up with a sigh and swings his legs over the edge of the bed. 

...And immediately locks eyes with Castiel.

The angel is perched on the other bed, trench coat off but still pooled around his hips, one foot planted on the floor and the other on the bed. 

Cas doesn't look like he's had any change of heart. It's dark, but the streetlamp outside provides enough orange light for Dean to notice the slight twitch of his jaw muscles. Yup, he's still pissed.

Dean knows this isn't the time, that he should just go back to bed, that he should let Cas have his anger for now, and maybe he'll be more approachable tomorrow. He knows he shouldn't poke a bear.

But some part of him just couldn't leave well enough alone.

"Cas," Dean says, quietly, carefully. "Are you okay?" 

It's a stupid question and Dean is painfully aware of it. Gotta start somewhere though.

"As if you care," Cas snaps back, sitting up a little straighter, staring Dean down a little harder. Challenging him to prove it.

Dean actually feels himself flinch at Castiel's words. To hear him all but explicitly state that he doesn't feel loved—it hurts more than Dean ever thought it would. He finds himself standing, and his feet take him to the water cooler in the corner of the room, seeking out some motive to have gotten up other than hiding from Cas or going towards Cas.

Dean flips the dim ceiling light on, then reaches for the small stack of paper cups on top of the water cooler, and he gets as far as closing his fingers over it, but he can't complete the action. Without even letting go of them, he just stands there, frozen, staring down at the dingy white plastic of the water tank.

"Cas, you know I do. You know I care," Dean finally whispers, without looking up.

" _ Do I? _ " 

The reply is sharp and instant. Two words, and Dean can feel his world starting to crumble, crashing down around him. Before he can think twice, he turns. 

Cas is right in front of him. Dean hadn't even noticed him getting up. 

For a moment, Dean watches fury and hurt flicker back and forth across Castiel's features, as if he can't decide which one to settle on, and all Dean wants to do is just hug him.

Before Dean can react, Cas has got him by the collar, dragging him forward. For a moment, time screeches to a halt as Castiel stares, eyes darting frantically, but never leaving Dean's face. 

Then he speaks.

"You… you were going to  _ leave  _ me— _ sacrifice yourself!  _ And you weren't even going to say goodbye to me? How  _ could _ you?!"

His voice struggles over every word, hoarse and raw with pain. 

All Dean can do is lower his head in shame, because he knows how much that had hurt Cas, and he knows they've never actually talked about it. He feels a rough hand against his face now, a trembling, desperate grip, tugging his chin up until they're face to face again. 

"How could you not understand?" Cas goes on relentlessly, "how can you say that you  _ care, _ when you were  _ ready _ and  _ willing _ to throw yourself away, and leave me to mourn you with no closure, leave me to  _ wonder _ for the rest of my  _ miserable _ existence why I wasn't even worth a farewell?!"

Cas stops to breathe for a tense second, and when he speaks again, his voice has suddenly softened, which is somehow so much worse.

"To lose you like that… Dean, it would have destroyed me."

Dean can't find the words to respond, and his head is spinning trying to handle the magnitude of what's being said. Involuntarily his mind fills with memories of the days after Lucifer had killed Castiel. That shattering grief that had swallowed him up, taking over every waking moment and most of the sleeping ones, too. That night he had given up and begged Death to keep him, because he'd become an empty shell after only two weeks, a ghost drifting through what didn't even feel like life anymore.

_ Losing Castiel destroyed  _ me, Dean thinks. 

_ He's saying he would've felt the same way, isn't he? _

_ Fuck. _

Dean is still speechless, all the replies he can think of lodged in his throat, burning. He's barely holding back tears, and he hates it.

The strange standstill goes on for another few seconds. 

Then like the tide crashing back to shore, Cas is fiery again.

"You don't understand!" He says again. "You–you don't even  _ know _ –I thought I meant more to you than this, I thought  _ we—,” _

Cas cuts himself off, shaking his head as if he's just decided he said too much, and now Dean is dying to hear the rest of that sentence. Instead, Cas moves one shaking hand from Dean's collar into his hair, fingers curling just a little.

Dean stares into wild blue eyes, and they're so close to each other it's dizzying, and then it dawns on him that he truly isn't sure if Castiel is about to kill him or kiss him.

The shock of the realization sends Dean lurching away from Cas, stumbling a few steps back before flinging himself out the door and shutting it behind him. He flees downstairs and out into the dark parking lot, not wanting to find out if Cas will come after him. 

Leaning against the building, Dean stares up at the night sky and sighs, cursing under his breath. He might've just burnt his last bridge with Cas, and his brain doesn't want to process it. There are so many things he needs to say, things he needs to do, things he needs to _ stop _ doing, before he can even have a chance at unfucking what he's just so gracefully fucked up.

Whatever Dean does next is gonna make or break his relationship with Cas. 

And it's fucking terrifying. 

Yet at the same time, Dean knows he's being an absolute fucking wussy for literally running away from this. Everything he wants is in that room, but some of his worst fears are too. The only way to move forward, to get what he wants, what he  _ needs,  _ is to face those fears. The ones that are embedded so deep that he truly doesn't know what will happen to him if he digs that far.

But Cas thought he'd meant more than this.

Cas thought  _ they  _ meant more than this.

They  _ should _ mean more than this.

Goddammit, they  _ do  _ mean more than this.

" _ Shit, _ " he hisses, and turns on his heel to go back inside.

Dean nearly chickens out—more than once—on his way up the creaking staircase. His heart is hammering against his ribs as he pauses mid-step. 

_ I can't do this. I just can't, it's too much, it's too fucking much— _

"You  _ can _ do this," Dean pep talks himself. "You  _ have _ to do this. Just keep goin'." 

But he can't get his feet to move. 

Dean hopes nobody has happened to look out their window and see him, because he probably looks like a total basket case. Talking to himself, in his pajamas, in the middle of the night, frozen on the staircase like he's playing red light green light with an imaginary friend.

"Dammit," Dean mutters, "Sam was right, this  _ is _ a fucking chick flick."

That's when something breaks, and before he can decide against it, Dean makes a snap decision and bolts forward, taking the stairs two at a time. Half of him is screaming _turn back! Turn back!_ _Stop! This_ _will blow up in your face—!_ But when he reaches 207, he grabs the handle hard, flings the door open— _you're gonna crash and burn!—_ ducks inside, and closes it behind him. Now he _has_ to face this. 

Dean slowly turns his attention to Castiel.

He's sitting on the floor with his back against the bed, knees drawn up halfway to his chest, his arms resting across them. It's so vulnerably human, and Dean's heart hurts. 

Cas gazes up at him, his eyes guarded and resigned. Dean comes to the bed, sitting at the edge closest to Cas. Almost unconsciously, he grazes his fingertips over the trench coat. It's still a little warm, and Dean withdraws his hand, chastising himself for being a fucking creep. 

Minutes pass. The silence drags on, a weight that grows heavier and denser until it's unbearable. Dean starts to wring his hands, nervous energy building up with nowhere to put it. All he has to do is say something, right? Anything. Sure, Cas has calmed down, but Dean is still a disaster. How is he supposed to begin a talk like the one they need to have?

_ Hey Cas, since you've been my hot water bottle every damn night for a while, and now you're sick of my shit, what are we? _

_ What  _ should _ we be? _

_ Sorry I've been treating you like a fucking teddy bear but nobody else does to me what you do to me. _

_ Cas, I'm scared to death of intimacy but I want it with you. _

_ Cas, I love you, so goddamn much, and if you love me back then I have no idea why, but I'll die happy. _

Cas beats him to the punch, but he seems just as clueless, because all he does is murmur, "Dean, I'm sorry."

Dean winces. He sounds broken, and all Dean wants is to fix him, to fix all of this before there's nothing left to fix, to hold him until all those pieces fit back together. He hates that he's the one who pulled them apart.

"Cas…w-why…what are you apologizing for?" Dean asks quietly. 

Cas lets out a long sigh. "I'm apologizing for my selfishness." He meets Dean's eyes. "Believe me, Dean, I want to be whatever it is that you need me to be. I always have. But this…" —he gestures vaguely between them— "this hurts too much. All the ages I have existed, the wars, the death, Hell. I've watched civilizations be destroyed. Entire species going extinct. Yet I've never felt pain quite like this. Never. Dean, I'm sorry but I just can't do this anymore. I want to, but I can't. And if that means I need to move on, then that's what I will have to do. For the sake of us both."

Dean is struck silent. His head spins out of control as he processes the implications of what Castiel just said.

_ He's done. _

_ (He has feelings for me—?!) _

_ He's not fucking around, he's  _ really  _ done. _

_ (And there's no way he doesn't have feelings—!) _

_ I can't hurt him like this. _

_ I can't tear down everything we've built. _

_ I can't let this die. _

_ Not after we've made it so far. _

_I can't lose him_ _now._

Before he even realizes what he's doing, Dean is off the bed and on his knees in front of Cas, his hands grasping the angel's shoulders. Cas tenses and looks away from him. 

"It's not like that, Cas," Dean whispers. "I swear. I should be the one saying sorry. This is all me. This isn't your fault. I've been keeping you at arms length and that’s not fair, I know it's not, but I only do it because… fuck, it's because I'm  _ afraid."  _

_Yeah_ _that's all it is, isn't it?_

_ I'm afraid.  _

_ But when the fuck have I ever let fear win? God, what the fuck have I been  _ doing _ all this time?! _

"I'm afraid of the way I feel about you," Dean admits once and for all. "The way I've  _ felt  _ about you for  _ all _ these years." 

Castiel's eyes dart back up, his stare suddenly sharp and focused. His hands move to Dean's forearms, gripping them like a lifeline, and his knees lower on either side of Dean, who is pretty much in his lap now. Cas whispers Dean's name in a breath of fear and wonder. Just one word, but it's a complete sentence. It's a conversation. A plea. It's a question, and watching Cas' eyes widen as he realizes the answer, Dean is flooded with emotion.

For a moment, time stops, and they both breathe heavily in unison.

Then Dean steals a glance at Castiel's lips, like he has so many times before, but for the first time, it shatters the standstill. 

Cas brings his hands to Dean's face, fast and shaky. He inhales unevenly, slides his grasp around to the nape of Dean's neck, and Dean finds his own hands mirroring the movement, several seconds ahead of his brain. Their foreheads press together, their eyes lock, and they both tremble, pulses spiked far too high to be still. 

Dean thinks he might not even be in control of his body anymore, and Castiel's hands and breath on his skin is driving him wild. 

He doesn't even know who closed the space between them first, and he honestly doesn't care. 

The kiss is frantic and desperate. Their hands and mouths are moving blind, the pace quickly growing feverish, both struggling to press so many years of unspoken desire into the other's lips. Dean is seeing stars, his face flushed, heart racing so fast he can hear it. Cas tugs at Dean's hair, probably out of the simple need to hold onto something, but it only turns Dean on more. When he feels Castiel's tongue lick across his lips, Dean whines low in his throat as he eagerly opens up for it. Finally he tastes this angel he's spent the better part of a decade pining for. It's everything he's ever hoped it would be.

Dean is so thoroughly intoxicated by the taste, the pleasure, damn, the sheer  _ reality _ of finally kissing Castiel, that he doesn’t realize he's been forgetting to breathe, until they part and he's gasping for air. Dean's breath hitches a couple of times, his eyes fluttering shut, and Cas pulls him closer in response, bringing his lips to Dean's neck and jaw with a soft growl. 

_ Dear fucking God,  _ Dean thinks _ , this is actually happening,  _ and in this moment, the only thing he wants in the world is to give himself to Castiel entirely, his body, his soul, everything he can possibly submit.

"Cas," he breathes, and those forbidden words just— just let themselves out. 

"Cas, I love you."

Twice. "Fuck, I  _ love  _ you."

Cas freezes for a couple of seconds. Then he pulls back so he can meet Dean's eyes, drawing a long, shaky breath.

"I love you too, Dean," he whispers. "For so long I have, but at first I didn't recognize what I was feeling— I wasn't built to love, I wasn’t  _ supposed _ to, but  _ you _ …you changed all of it. You changed everything." 

Dean's heart swells. He almost wants to cry, but he doesn't want to risk waking himself up if it turns out he's dreaming. 

Cas cradles Dean's face in his hands and leans in for another kiss, much slower and sweeter than the first. Dean can't help but nuzzle, melting completely into it with a soft sigh, tangling his fingers through Castiel's already disheveled hair. It's pure fucking heaven.

Sometimes Dean forgets how much he just needs someone to touch him like he's worth something, like he's not a failure, like he's lovable. Like the words running on repeat in his head like a siren are real.

_ Cas loves me. Cas loves me. Cas loves me. _

Dean knows now that if an asteroid crash landed right this second and killed everything in its radius, he would die happy. This is everything he wanted, and he can barely believe that all this time it would've been so easy to get. Dean holds onto Cas and surrenders to this unfamiliar, yet so devastating contentment.

They go on like that for what might've been a few minutes before it gets heated again, and the two of them tumble to the floor, entangled. 

Dean is lightheaded, a passionate, wild sort of relief washing over him. All the emotions he's been pushing down for years are finally,  _ finally _ set free, every thought and wish and hope and want that he'd locked away every time he looked at Castiel— all finally being pardoned. Dean can hardly comprehend that this is reality, so he lets his brain take the back seat for once and just loses himself in it, as discarded clothing starts to litter the floor around them.

Every time their eyes meet, Dean knows that everything they need to be discussing, everything they should be saying, passes between them in that split second like an electrical current. 

_ Tomorrow, _ Dean promises himself weakly, his presence of mind losing balance faster with every inch of skin Cas touches.

_ Tomorrow we'll talk about this, _ Dean resolves, his own curious hands devoutly exploring Castiel's bare chest and the rippling tanned muscles of his back, places he's wanted to touch for too long. Dean needs to learn  _ all _ there is to know about the delicious little hitches and gasps Cas makes depending on what he does with his fingernails. 

Tomorrow, because right now— right now Cas is on top of him, and his breath is hot and damp against Dean's throat, and there is nothing else in the fucking  _ world _ that he would rather be doing. Softly he breathes Castiel's name like some sort of prayer.

Cas hovers aboves him with an oddly reverent expression and brings his hand to Dean's lips, sliding his thumb slowly across them. Dean slips it into his mouth without even thinking. It just feels like the obvious thing to do.

Dean thought he'd seen just about how dark Castiel's eyes can get, but he's proven wrong now, when an even filthier look flashes across them. 

If Dean wasn't rock hard already, this alone would've been enough to get him there. Cas leans in close, rough stubble scraping Dean's neck again, and he whispers, " _ Suck. _ " 

Dean doesn't have to be told twice. He's enjoyed way too many fantasies about hearing that command come from Castiel, though in most of them, it wasn't fingers he was wrapping his lips around. Cas pushes his index finger in too, and in his periphery Dean can see Castiel's other hand tense and curl where it's planted beside his head. One by one, he takes four of Castiel's fingers into his mouth, and it's so fucking intoxicating to have  _ any _ part of Castiel inside him, Dean isn't sure he'll even last until whatever this is leading up to.

Their first time isn't much like the movies, and it would be unreasonable to expect anything else, not after so many years of suppressing their desires. They're on a hotel carpet for fuck's sake, and far too exhilarated to draw it out. Neither even has the patience to fully undress, let alone take their time. Love is a thing that still needs to be talked about, and the time will come for it, but not now. Now they're releasing all the lust that's been held at bay forever, and they're both completely high on it.

Cas slides his hand down from Dean's mouth, traces it lightly over his hip bones, waiting for consent, and Dean kisses him desperately, trying to convey without detaching from Cas that he's okay with anything, fucking  _ anything. _

_ Yes, Castiel,  _ he prays,  _ you make me feel so alive, now please, please just fucking kill me. _

Thankfully, Dean's prayers to this angel never go unheard, and this time is no exception. Once Cas gets that hand into his jeans, closes those slick fingers around his cock, Dean just barely bites off a whine, and right then he knows he doesn't stand a chance. But he's alright with it. He wants Cas so bad he can't even think. He's living an actual fantasy and it was worth every second of self-doubt.

Cas strokes him for barely a minute before Dean's abandoned all pretense of holding back his reactions, because it's so much better when he just lets himself  _ feel. _ He gasps and moans, bucks his hips into Castiel's hand, only quieting when Cas kisses him so deep he hasn't got any breath to spare. 

Someone downstairs is banging on the ceiling, shouting, but Dean doesn't care. He  _ can't _ care. Maybe he's supposed to be keeping it down. But none of the rules have ever applied with Castiel. And right now, he's with Castiel in the way that only his dreams could provide less than an  _ hour _ ago. He won't disengage from this for  _ anything. _

Maybe it's a sin to jerk off an angel of the Lord, and probably an even worse sin to take this much pleasure in every sound from that angel's lips, but Cas and Dean write their own story, just like they always have. They don't follow the script, they flip it and they always will. And when Castiel gets in close and speaks directly into Dean's ear with that husky whisper again, commands him to lose control, they're probably in even more trouble. But there's no way Dean is going to waste the only time it's ever been easy to give in.

"Come for me, Dean," Cas growls, and that's all it takes. Dean doesn't look back. He goes right off the edge with a gasp and several short hitched breaths, bright spots dancing in front of his eyes. 

It's not long before Cas follows, because he'll follow Dean anywhere, and even through the hazy aftershocks Dean finds enough lucidity to make sure he takes care of Cas too. Watching those pretty eyes flutter shut in the throes of pleasure might be the most divine moment Dean has ever lived. When he feels Cas come into his hand, shuddering and shaking above him, Dean burns that scratchy, soft moan permanently into his memory.

_ Now that… _ Dean thinks as Castiel's weight drops down on top of him, right where it belongs,  _ that was definitely a sin. _

And if he's going right on back to Hell for it some day, that's alright with him.

There's a period of time, probably more than a few minutes, that the two of them just lie there on the hotel carpet, sweaty and panting. Listening to the indistinct angry voices from downstairs, waiting for their hearts to slow, processing the gravity of what they've just done. Maybe that's where they hit a wall, because neither Dean nor Cas seem to want to break the silence first.

_ I just had sex with Cas  _ is literally the only thought that Dean can think right now, and it just keeps repeating in an endless loop, bouncing around in his brain, knocking everything else down. Until a few more thoughts are thrown into the mix.

Like _fuck, was this a terrible mistake?_ And _should I have shut this down before it even started?_ And _what if I just made the wrong decision? It all happened so fast and everything felt so fucking good and there just wasn't room to be rational but what if we regret this? What if_ he _regrets this?_

Eventually, though, Dean has to face the reality that Cas has pretty much infinite patience, and he doesn't. He's tired, and there's cum in places that cum shouldn't be, and he wants a shower, and goddammit, any minute the hotel manager is bound to come knocking. 

As soon as he moves, he's gonna break the spell, Dean just knows it. He's terrified. But he takes a breath and sits up anyway, albeit slowly.

Just as Dean had feared, the impenetrable hush in the air vanishes, and Cas, who had been lying face down, pulls himself up onto his elbows. He looks up at Dean through low lashes, his lips flushed and hair a mess. Goddammit, he's beautiful. But for some stupid reason, Dean doesn't stay. He staggers to his feet and heads for the bathroom, only once looking back. Castiel's eyes are still on him when he softly shuts the bathroom door. 

Dean stares at himself in the mirror for a long moment, as if his reflection might offer some sort of guidance. 

It still echoes in his ears. The confessions of love. 

Dean knows it happened and they both got out alive, but thinking about it gets his heart racing again like it's about to happen and the outcome is still uncertain. 

_ Cas loves me back. _

That thought alone feels foreign in Dean's head. Feels like he's making it up. 

On autopilot, Dean turns the shower on and strips off what little clothing he has left, the memory of Castiel's hands on him still heady and potent. He showers without being fully aware of what he's doing. It's like his mind is attempting to install the past couple of hours, but it's just hit that part of the installation where the estimated completion is in 1000 hours. 

Just when Dean thinks his brain can't be fried any further, he hears the bathroom door ease open. He freezes. The curtain is pulled to one side. 

And then he's face to face with Castiel, nothing but clouds of steam between their naked bodies. 

Before he can think, Dean does what makes sense. He steps aside and lets Cas join him. 

The shower is dreamlike. They only keep their hands off of each other for all of 5 seconds before Dean feels Cas' hands slide over his hips. He starts to turn, but Cas puts one hand between his shoulder blades and pins him up against the wall. Out of sheer desire he arches back into Castiel's touch with a bitten off moan, fingers curling on the slippery tiles. 

_ My fucking God,  _ Dean thinks as Castiel's lips and teeth mark the back of his neck. _ We can actually do this now. We can just  _ do _ this. _

It's still so surreal. 

Dean has finally watched every goddamn domino left get swept off the table and out the door. He never wants to see them again.

Somehow, in between all the desperate, slippery, wordless groping and kissing and grinding, the two of them eventually manage to use the shower for its actual purpose. 

The silence is substantial after the water is off, after both the white hotel towels have been pulled from the rack. Dean is sitting on the edge of the tub, rubbing a towel over his hair, and enjoying the view as Cas dries off that gorgeous tanned body of his.

It's only a moment after Dean notices the concerning lack of noise from the room downstairs, that there's a knock at the door. A few knocks, actually. He doesn't have to see whoever's there to know they're annoyed as fuck. Without a second of deliberation, Cas wraps his towel around his hips. 

"I'll get it," he murmurs before slipping out. 

The second Cas leaves the bathroom, Dean scrambles up, towel passably thrown over most of him, and quietly follows, wondering what the hell Cas is actually gonna say. He stops around the corner closest to the door and listens as he hears it open.

"Uh, I've been, um. I've gotten some noise complaints from the unit downstairs," a man's voice says, and to his credit he's trying hard to sound assertive. Dean can't blame him for tripping over his words though, because being greeted by Castiel wearing only a towel will knock anybody for a loop.

"I see. My apologies," Cas replies, smooth as a fucking dolphin. "But I've been waiting quite a few years to finally have sex with the other patron in this room, so please excuse our carelessness."

Dean gasps incredulously, and quickly claps one hand over his mouth as he starts to crack up. He shouldn't have expected anything different from Cas, but it's still hilariously shocking anyway. Dean misses whatever the manager said in response, and he jumps when the door shuts, dropping the silence back down. Cas comes around the corner far too soon for Dean to duck out of sight, and they nearly run into each other. For half a second, they both freeze. Then Dean grins.

"You shameless son of a  _ bitch…! _ " He says, losing his shit halfway through. He grabs Cas' shoulder for support, nearly doubling over with laughter at just how absurd and ridiculous and fucking wonderful this all is. Then Cas starts laughing too, and they wind up sitting in the hallway together, tears in their eyes, struggling to breathe—and it's finally for the right reasons.

They're finally done hiding. 

Sure, Dean's got an evil angel trapped in his mind giving him a headache so perpetual he's used to it. But now he's got his good angel in all the ways he's scarcely dared to wish for. Sure, there's probably another apocalypse waiting in the wings, but in the interim, Dean can cuddle with Cas any time. Not just at night. Not just when he's in distress. 

The next time one of them does something stupid to protect the other, they can speak the real reason out loud. They can finally say _it's because I love you, you idiot._ They can wake up before everyone else and make coffee, and they can drink it in one of those oversized armchairs that's almost a couch, and Dean can drape his legs across Castiel's lap, and he can fucking _keep_ them there when other people start walking in. The amount of freedom laid out in front of him now is so much to comprehend, he's almost entirely in disbelief.

"You should sleep," Cas says, startling Dean out of his thoughts. 

Dean nods and slowly gets to his feet, with Cas close behind. He doesn't bother with pajamas. A towel is plenty enough, and he already feels a little overdressed anyway. Besides that his brain is just a little too fuzzy to concentrate on anything. So he simply crawls under the too-fluffy blanket, leans over the side to plug his phone into the charger, and then gets comfortable, just like it's an ordinary night. Except it isn't. 

Now, when Dean snuggles in with Cas, it feels different. 

God, it  _ is _ different. 

Different like the way it had been starting to feel before, the way that had sparked so much fear and doubt within him only a day ago. 

Dean knows he should be tired, and he's pretty sure he is, but there's too much on his mind for it to settle down. It feels too easy, too mundane to just… _ go to bed _ after everything that's happened. 

Carefully, Dean extracts himself from Cas' arms and turns over to face him—only to find that Cas is wide awake too.

"Can't sleep?" Cas whispers, and Dean can just make out a faint smile in the light of the streetlamp outside.

"No I…I guess not," Dean answers, a lot quieter than it had sounded in his head. 

Cas lifts one hand and gently brushes back a few stray damp hairs from Dean's forehead. 

"So many things to be said…too many," Cas says, and right at the end it almost sounds like it could be a question.

"Yeah. How'd you know?"

Cas goes quiet for a moment or two before he says, "I believe it's the same reason I am restless."

_ Oh thank God,  _ Dean thinks,  _ I don't have to fail at explaining this. _

"I don't even know where I'd start, Cas," Dean admits. 

"Perhaps we don't have to start now," Cas says, "perhaps we've already started." He seems to be lost in thought for a minute, before he adds, "we can make it up as we go along, can't we? If nothing else, I know that I love you, and I've loved you for years. I think that's a good place to start."

Dean fidgets, crumpling and uncrumpling the sheets with his fingers. "It…yeah. It-it is," he murmurs, still uncertain, still barely daring to put his faith in reality. "And I want it to be that easy, man, I do, but…Cas, there's a lot of shit I've done, I—shit I need to apologize for—I haven't been good to you—"

"Dean." Cas stops him. "Slow down. I know you were afraid to speak about this. It's alright."

"No, I—," Dean is struggling. He takes a breath. Then another. Cas tilts his head and there's a tender look in his eyes that makes Dean hate himself. He wasn't sure how he was planning to say this, but just blurting it out definitely wasn't on the agenda. Unfortunately, that's exactly what he does. 

"Cas this is why I couldn't say goodbye to you!" 

Castiel's eyes widen slightly as he catches on. Then he blinks them like he's going to cry. "Dean…" he murmurs, but Dean isn't done. 

"Because I fucking love you," Dean says and the agony in his voice shows itself unbidden. "And I—I really did believe I was doing the right thing, that–that I didn't have any choice, Cas! And every time I looked at you, every time, I lost some of my nerve. I didn't trust myself to stick to the plan if I had to face you and tell you the truth." This time the breath Dean draws is trembling, his spiked pulse rushing in his ears. "Cas, I'm so sorry. I know I did you wrong and I never wanted to hurt you but I did and that's the last thing I wanna do and I'm just so fucking sorry. You don't have to forgive me but please don't hate me."

_ Please please please. _

For a moment the air stands unmoving between them. Dean's heart starts to sink as he watches an ember of that betrayed disappointment from earlier spark up in Castiel's eyes, but no more than a second later, the ember winks out, softens into empathy. 

"Dean," Cas whispers gently, "I could  _ never _ hate you. I understand now and I cannot say for certain that I wouldn't have done the same. We can put this behind us. What's done is done. Sometimes fear makes us do strange things, and we were all scared."

"I'm still scared," Dean says, and even as a weight in his chest falls away, his voice is shaking all of the sudden. "I'm scared of losing you. I'm scared of—of someone or some _ thing _ using us against each other. I'm scared you're…I–I'm scared you're gonna realize that I'm not worth it—I've  _ been _ scared all this time because I couldn't figure out why you bother with me!"

"Well…you know now," Cas says, his expression getting softer as he threads his fingers through Dean's hair again. "I love you. That's why I bother."

Dean keeps the sheet crumpled in his fist now. "See that's where I get a little lost." His voice is strained but he's pretty sure it's not going to crack. He's pretty sure he's got it under control. "It's just—it's tough to like, be comfortable with the idea that someone who isn't obligated to me in any way could just up and  _ love  _ me and–and stay with me? And care about me just for that reason alone?" He shakes his head. "One day, Cas, you're gonna realize that I'm not worth your love, I'm barely worth anybody's love."

Cas actually flinches. He looks genuinely upset. " _ Dean, _ " he says, abruptly pulling Dean into a close hug, "that's not true! That's not true at all."

A little taken aback, Dean goes quiet for a minute, just breathing in the scent of Cas because he's  _ allowed _ to now. It's so strange to be allowed to.

"'s just hard for me to believe, I guess," Dean eventually mumbles into Cas' chest. He can't speak much louder than that, because he's feeling the familiar urge to break down, the one he always gets when someone is too kind to him.

"So I will keep saying it until you do," Cas replies with confidence. 

_ He's so sure that'll work,  _ Dean thinks. _ He's so sure that I can change.  _

Dean knows that his level of self hatred isn't normal or healthy or anything like that. He knows he's got problems. He's just long since accepted being a fuck-up, so he's never really entertained the notion that he could be anything more. He's never dared to assume he deserves anything as good as this. But now here's Cas, with all this inexplicable faith in him, and Dean doesn't know where that piece fits. 

"You don't regret what we've done, do you?" Cas asks, and there's a tinge of worry in there, just a pale wash of fear. Dean pulls back so he can look Cas in the eye. 

"No, Cas, I don't," he says, perhaps one of the only answers he's certain of right now. "Do you?"

Cas shakes his head. "Not for a second, Dean."

Breathing a small sigh of relief, Dean nestles up to Cas again and cuts some of his anxieties loose. It's only once they're gone that he can see how heavy they were. With his eyes closed, he could be floating, drifting on a warm summer breeze, drifting to a place where the ocean licks the sand and the air smells like salt and there's no pain. No fear. No  _ shame.  _ Maybe, somewhere, that place exists. Maybe someday, Dean will go there, with his angel right beside him. But until then, he dreams of it.

At first, it's one of the most pleasant dreams he's had in a while. The beach looks endless but he doesn't feel trapped. He's just walking, nowhere he has to be, no lives in his hands, nothing to agonize over. 

At first.

Dean isn't even sure when the world changed. It was so subtle, it takes a minute to realize he's no longer outside. It takes no time at all, though, to recognize the new surroundings— because they're not new. 

Dead and gnarled vines creep up the empty window frames, beams of grungy light filtering in from behind them. Dean shivers, the chilling wind that always howls through abandoned buildings raising goosebumps on his arms. He can hear the bones of the decrepit church creaking and groaning, echoing. Dean knows this place. He's seen it in nightmares. In flashbacks. And before that he saw it in glimpses, because Michael let him see it, just so that he could know the horrors he was being used to commit. A few glimpses every night, like some kind of twisted bedtime story. Dean remembers the things he saw here, things he wishes he could forget.

Dean turns in a circle, scanning up and down, trying to delay the panic that's surging up in his chest. 

"No, no, no," he's whispering. "No, I don't wanna be here, please, I don't wanna be here…"

"Well isn't that just too bad." 

Dean jumps, startled at the sound of his own voice, as Michael appears right in front of him with a smug grin. Dean is filled with dread. He tries to step back, but he can't move now. He can't fucking  _ move. _

"What the Hell do you want?" Dean demands, a lot less steadily than he'd hoped.

Michael laughs. "I don't particularly like being ignored, Dean. You haven't won just because you've got your precious angel right where you want him," he sneers. "Castiel is gonna be the first one we kill when I take this vessel back, and we're gonna kill him  _ slowly,  _ and I'll let you have a front row seat. You will watch  _ every second _ of it."

Dean feels the same jolt in his heart as he would if Michael could go and hurt Cas right now. And then he gets pissed. He still can't move, but he's clenching his fists so hard his fingernails are digging into his palms.

"That ain't gonna happen," Dean seethes, "and there is no  _ we! _ "

"Oh but isn't there?" Michael says, barely fazed. He pretends to be shocked, as if Dean's said something scandalous. "Is this Dean Winchester avoiding accountability? You know it takes two to tango. You sold yourself to me, and I'm sorry to burst your bubble but there's no refunds. I. Still. Own you."

"Fuck you."

"You're not denying it." Micheal is still smiling, and Dean has never wanted to bash a smile off someone's face more than he does now. "I always did want to kill Castiel," Michael goes on in conversational tones, as he starts to circle Dean, slow and predatory. "But now that you two lovebirds have finally made it official…oh, I'm going to enjoy it on an entirely new level. We're gonna keep him alive as long as we can before we end his pitiful existence, aren't we, Dean?" He leans in close. "I'll even let you talk to him a few times. It will be  _ so _ entertaining."

Dean is shaking, from anger or fear, he can't be sure. Probably both. "You won't lay a fucking finger on him because I will  _ never _ let you leave that room, you twisted son of a  _ bitch! _ " He yells, and the slight twitch, the split second of a falter in Michael's cool demeanor, gives him a ridiculous amount of satisfaction.

"You can't hold me forever," Micheal hisses. "You really think you're strong enough? You pathetic fucking animal. You are nothing without serving me.  _ Nothing! _ "

Dean is breathing hard, shaking his head, staring into Michael's eyes— _ his _ eyes. If nothing else, Dean knows that he will die before he kills Castiel with his own hands.

"You bastard, I'll never let you out," Dean growls. "I'll never let you out, I'll _ never let you— _ "

  
  


"Dean. Dean, wake up!"

It's bright. Dean can hear cars and birdsong. There's a warm hand pressed against his face. 

The pale morning sun is shining in long stripes across the room, and Castiel's eyes look so pretty in its light. And Dean is so goddamn relieved to see them. He's a little disoriented, but he manages to sling an arm around Cas' neck and pull him into a lopsided hug. 

"Just a nightmare," Cas murmurs in his ear, "everything's okay."

Dean exhales, long and a little unsteady.  _ Thank fucking God. _

Cas lies back down, carefully closing his arms around Dean. "Are you alright?" He asks. 

"I think so," Dean whispers, pushing the remnants of the dream to a corner of his mind. "What time is it?"

Cas reaches somewhere to get one of their phones, and in the short moment that he's not embraced by his angel, Dean feels so cold. 

"It is 8:51," Cas reports. "Sam texted. He says he's ready when we are."

"I don't wanna be ready yet," Dean mumbles, but a part of him disagrees. A part of him wants to get up right now and hop in the car, to go home and hold Castiel's hand while he drives, and not hide it. He can feel himself getting red in the face thinking about how smug Sam is going to be. But that different part of him, that reckless, hopeful, optimistic part that, right here and now, he vows to try and cultivate— that part can't wait to see the look on Sam's face when he finds out what's happened. Can't wait to watch him light up when he sees that Dean's finally opened up to what's been in front of him all along. 

So, for once, Dean takes a chance on letting something new be his driving force. It's still frightening, of course, but does that even matter? He's got Castiel to protect him. He always has. That's never changed.

"Actually," Dean says, pulling himself up to lean on his elbows, "never mind. Let's get up. I'm ready to go home."

Cas smiles, softly in that way that always makes Dean melt. He nods his acknowledgement and slowly starts to make his way out of the excessively fluffy blankets.

Dean sits up and leans over to take his phone off the charger, unlocking it to find a text from Sam. 

**Sam: The manager says there were "noise complaints filed about the other two patrons in my party"**

**Sam: So I'm gonna assume things either went real bad or real good with you and Cas last night.**

Dean rolls his eyes and leaves Sam on 'read' but he can't find it in him to be genuinely annoyed.

He and Cas mill around the room, putting on clean clothes, packing stuff away, double checking the bags, everything you're supposed to do. It's quiet, a companionable silence, until for some reason their eyes meet.

And whatever had been holding back the bright, bouncy feeling in Dean's chest, it cracks. And he just starts giggling like a total dumb ass. 

Cas catches the bug a moment later, and breathlessly he's asking, "what? What?" Because that's just what you do when someone starts laughing out of nowhere, but Dean knows that he knows. Cas has got a glow like nothing else, that glow everybody hopes to see or feel at some point in their lives. He's got a spark in his laughter that Dean has never heard before. Except for maybe right now, from his own voice. 

Dean went to sleep last night. He woke up this morning. And none of this was a dream. How's he's gotten this lucky, he has no clue. 

  
  


Sam is checking out when Dean and Cas come down to the lobby. The manager shoots a disapproving look over Sam's shoulder, and Dean has to turn away to keep from cracking up again, because Cas just beams at the man, a big toothy grin that would piss off anyone on the wrong end of it. 

Dean shoves Cas playfully and whispers, "stop it!" And then that grin is turned on him, only now it's warm and charming.

"Stop what?" Cas whispers back. Dean goes to shove him again, but Cas dodges and immediately puts on a straight face, like nothing happened. He delicately lifts the luggage from Dean's shoulder and turns to the exit, but just before he leaves, he leans in and gives Dean a quick peck on his cheek. For some goddamn reason Dean blushes, and it feels so ridiculous because they've done far worse in the past 12 hours, and then Sam turns around, missing it by a second. 

Dean watches his brother's eyes move from him, to Cas walking away, then back to him, and he sees Sam deflate just the slightest bit, the hint of concern probably way more obvious than he thinks it is.

_ Oh,  _ Dean realizes,  _ he thinks we're still fighting. _

He doesn't even care about the manager's glare now. He jogs over to Sam and yanks him into a crushing hug. Because Dean really doesn't know how everything would've played out if Sam hadn't taken it upon himself to trap them in that room together. 

"I owe you a lot more than one, Sammy," Dean says, muffled against Sam's shoulder. Sam steps back, and judging by the look on his face, Dean knows he won't have much explaining to do. The guy looks like he just won the damn lottery. After a second, though, Sam seems to check himself, tamping down the excitement a little, like he's afraid his reaction was too strong.

"So I'm guessing you guys are okay now, huh?" Sam asks, his barely contained grin almost comically noticeable. 

Dean huffs a little laugh. "Yeah, you–you could say that, yeah," he replies, then, a bit more conspiratorial, "remember when you um… you asked if we're a thing?"

Sam's eyes grow huge, and he's about to say something, but Dean just starts nodding and it's enough. 

The big warm smile that spreads across Sam's face is priceless. It gives Dean that extra dose of reassurance he didn't realize he needed. It's fucking unforgettable.

Sam composes himself, with minimal success, and urges Dean to follow him outside.

As soon as all three of them are in the Impala, with the doors shut, Sam might as well have been a soda in an earthquake. He springs up from the back seat and plants himself between Cas and Dean.

"Fucking  _ finally! _ " He practically shouts. "I'm so proud of you two idiots!" 

Sam's enthusiasm is contagious, and Dean finds himself grinning, because Sam is right. They  _ are _ fucking idiots. He glances to the right, and Cas is looking a bit embarrassed, and it's—

_ No. Wait. I can say that now. _

"Cas you're fucking adorable, you know that?"

"Shut up Dean," Cas shoots back, but Dean can see the smile that's tugging at his lips.

" _ Finally, _ " Sam says again, as if he's in such disbelief he has to repeat it to make sure it's real.

And Dean thinks,  _ you and me both, Sammy. _

_ You and me both. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seriously guys thank you for all the nice comments. Sorry ive left y'all hanging for a good minute, I'm kinda getting into the meat and potates of my vet tech program so homework has taken up a lot of my quarantime. Also I'm a chronic real-time editor, I cannot figure out how to write a draft without correcting grammar and making changes as I go along. Also I'm not very good at writing the positive half of stories. Or at least I don't believe I am.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy wow and cow, I actually finished something!

Dean doesn't wait and pine for Cas at night anymore. All the dominoes are down. 

Now, Cas arrives before him, or at the same time. Or they fall asleep together somewhere that isn't their room, like the couch they curled up on with a laptop, certain they'd actually get some work done. Or maybe they've been working all day and the air in the library is too stale to bear anymore, and even Sam is starting to look exhausted. So Dean will push his chair back and move to the other side of the table, and he'll rest his chin on Cas' hair, wrap both arms around his angel's broad shoulders, and he'll just ask. Because he's allowed to now.

"Wanna call it a night, fellas? I know  _ my _ eyes ain't staying open much longer."

Sam will look up from his book and smile, and tell them to go ahead, that he wants to at least finish this page.

Or maybe Dean has avoided research in favor of something more exciting like a stakeout, and the resident nerds are the only ones occupying the library. Dean will wander in, barefoot, in his pajamas, because he doesn't want to go to bed without his angel, and now he doesn't have to. Cas looks up from his book, eyes soft and a little apologetic, and he pats the spot next to him, drawing Dean to his side like a magnet. 

Dean will settle down on the sofa with his head laid on Castiel's lap, and he closes his eyes. Listens to the calming hush of two people quietly reading, and the occasional exchange of murmured words. Books being carefully shifted, pages turning slowly, the soft scratching of pencil on paper. Dean feels Cas' gentle hand, carding fingers through his hair, and he shivers, giving in to the pleasant static that washes over his body. He'll fall asleep like this, peaceful and safe. 

Later in the night, Cas might wake Dean up, and Dean will be swaying sleepily, eyes still half-lidded, so Cas puts an arm around his shoulders and leads him back to his bed—no, back to  _ their _ bed. Dean will mumble something close to 'good night' before he is snuggling up against Cas and asleep again. 

On those hunts when all three of them are stuck in one hotel room, Dean and Cas will steal away to the Impala where it's parked in the darkest corner of the lot, and make love in the back seat instead of sleeping.

Whenever Dean decides to cook, which is more often now because Dean cooks when he's okay, Cas joins him. Not in the kitchen of course, because Cas isn't much of a cook, but he just likes watching and, he's admitted, making Dean blush. 

They haul the separate recliners out of Dean's TV cave and replace them with an overstuffed, secondhand sofa. Now, when they have a mandatory movie night, Dean curls up on that sofa with Cas like he's always wanted to.

Sometimes it all seems too good to be true, and Dean worries over whether the other shoe is going to drop. Maybe Dean's died and gone to Heaven. 

He'd almost believe that, too, except for the one thing that doesn't add up: Dean's Heaven would've erased Michael. But Michael is still here, and still getting more volatile by the day, so Dean knows for sure he's not in Heaven.

"Only fuckin' thing he's good for," Dean grumbles bitterly, pushing his face further into his pillow as Michael rages in his head. Covering his ears is an automatic response, but of course it does nothing besides make him feel more helpless. 

But feeling helpless is different now, too. Because Dean isn't hiding things as much as he used to. It's not easy of course, but he's trying. When he hears Cas enter the room, he laboriously turns his head towards the door, but he doesn't even try to rise from the pillow. Cas is in his pajamas and holding a steaming mug of something. He shuts the door and pads over to sit by Dean's side, offering it to him. 

Dean slowly forces himself to sit up on his elbows, wincing. Gingerly he accepts it, inhaling the bold and wonderful scent. 

"Decaf," Cas assures him, "just so you won't lose sleep."

Dean takes a long pull from the mug and sighs, the strong taste lifting his spirits a little. He will never get tired of coffee, decaf or otherwise. "Thanks, angel," he murmurs before lying back down.

Cas carefully takes the mug from Dean's hands and sets it on the nightstand. He shifts the blanket to expose Dean's bare upper body, and he begins to gently work the tension out of Dean's muscles, with the same hands that have struck down countless demons. Dean rolls his shoulders and melts into the mattress with a long, shuddering sigh. He mumbles something, but even he's not entirely sure what it was. Cas dips to kiss the back of Dean's neck, tracing fingers up and down his spine, making him shiver.

In the past, Dean couldn't have this when he was feeling helpless. 

"I wish I'd never let him in," Dean laments. "I wish I'd had a choice, I wish I would've been strong enough to fucking  _ evict _ him. I just wanna be alone in my own head again, Cas."

"I remember that feeling," Cas says after a quiet pause, "when I said yes to Lucifer. I hope you know that we  _ will _ get through this, Dean. I have faith in us."

"Just don't wanna be scared anymore," Dean admits in a low, hoarse tone.

"I know." Cas lays his head down where his palms rest at Dean's shoulder blades, as if to shield Dean with his own body. The gesture isn't lost on Dean. There's nothing quite as comforting as the darkness that envelopes his closed eyelids when he's safe in the shadow of his angel.

"He will never take you," Castiel whispers reverently, his breath warm against the freckled skin of Dean's back. "You are mine, Dean Winchester. Only mine."

Cas punctuates his words with a protective hand, holding Dean's shoulder where the handprint once was.

Dean knows his troubles aren't over. He knows that. But now he can finally see a light at the end of this tunnel. He can finally find his way to it, because now he's got his own light to guide him. A pale golden light, and that hushed ringing sound like a distant wind chime, it sings in his ears, peaceful and familiar.

"Only yours, Cas," Dean echoes softly. "Only yours."

There's really nothing else he would rather be. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's a wrap! THANKS FOR READING and putting up with my slowpoke uploading!! Love y'all

**Author's Note:**

> [my dumb ass is on tumblr.](http://kweenratmother.tumblr.com/)


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